Now We Are Fifty

Now we are fifty:
our time parceled out
in measured lies and compromise,
staunchly unfaithful to second wives.

Now we are feted:
praised so highly for
our caustic wit and hot bullshit;
our great wisdom, cynicism-lit.

Now we are fading,
our fire hissing out
in lost ambition and late contrition,
clinging maniacally to autumn's passion.

Now we are fighting
the oldest enemy:
our faces seaming; his scythe gleaming
shearing contemporaries to final damning.