Getting old & Pondering

Getting old

I want to live free of chains hold,
aging now I'm getting old.
The cane is coming ahead of me,
visions of my death come to see.
I breathe each and all my breaths,
popcorn those moments watching my deaths.
Patiently I'm waiting to descend,
waiting for the visions to end.
Linked to life's hold,
I'm getting old.

Pondering

Clicking in the flicking for a snap,
tricking into tripping into a trap.
Swinging when stringing for fun,
stinging from the bullet bringing gun.
The things we do that we can view,
the things that we view that we do do.
Then the words come beating like a drum,
the rhythm of the drum we listen for it to come.
dipping as we're slipping,
gripping the things we're ripping,
or is this just me being me,
or me being me just being?

Sorry, it's something I must now ponder.