Hour Glass

Ninety one hundred and a score of midnights have passed since I was twenty
Then I had the world in my sack and was not willing to negotiate
Time was a humorous affliction for those who were ripened far past me
Pilot, CEO, Diver, Mayor, anything I wanted to be was my floodgate

Ninety one hundred and a score of midnights have terminate
My youth, my energy, my firmness has bowed to deficiency
Youth is a hardship of those poor futureless souls sprouting in my wake
Assisted living, support hose, Forrest Lawn, is what is left for my opportunity