late night poetry

I should be sleeping but instead I wrote this:

PeopleWatching

Hunched over walking (would be hand in hand if not for the arthritis)
love walking behind his beloved
slowly, intentionally, and peacefully.
The eyes of the old
looking over aged hands; veins apparent and pulsating
seeing more than I know of existence in one small moment the
movements moving past
birth, youth, memory,
going, going gone.

Do they see age as a gift, a prize or a burden?
approaching death as a journey or an escape?

In my young age I do not see the end. At night with eyes shut it can be sensed but not felt.
When my wrinkled skin reaches out in the near future
(all future is near) (all past is yesterday)
I hope I will touch the dark of life of a different time. I hope I will feel love, hate, remorse, pain, loss, gain, and all else that encapsulates this life and the one beyond.

But now,
I will sit at the table behind the cute, old couple and eat my meal
while they eat theirs.