It's Your Turn Now, Old Man.

Old man, as you feel the cold and withering hand of Death creep up on you,
I hope that you feel fear.

I hope he takes you softly, gently, bit by bit,
Sliding his cold unwanted touch across your body,
Stealing from you your safety and your freedom.
It's your turn now, old man.

You cannot run to the neighbors for assistance,
They will be no more help to you than they were to me;
So unlike you, he will have no need for threats
To keep you quiet, compliant, docile 'neath his hand.

He will have all the power, and you, at last, will know what it is to have none,
No way to stop his touch as he probes your deepest secrets,
Steals from you the intimacies which should be yours to give,
Touching you with the icy caress of frozen fear
As he steals from you control of your own body,
And you watch as he makes of you the puppet you wanted me to be.
It's your turn now, old man.

But there is no freedom in patient hiding deep behind your eyes,
Not for you.
There is no safety by letting him have your body,
And running deep into the darkness within, as I did,
For time is not your friend, and your age will make of you his pawn,
As mine had made me yours.
But youth is a prison that can eventually be escaped,
Unlike old age, old man.

Your undesired lover will always be there,
A shadow among shadows,
At your side in public,
Smug in his ownership,
Not always waiting for the moment when you are alone,
To make you feel his cold unwanted touch.
Your bowels will clench and knot,
Your limbs grow cold and clammy,
Although you burn with pain and rage and shame at your helplessness before him,
As you feel him take you teasingly to his cold bed,
Not all at once -
No, that would be too easy.
It's your turn now, old man.

He will seduce you,
Touch you lightly, possessively,
In the ebb hours of the night,
Or in ways that no one else can see,
And there is no one who can save you from the knowledge of his touch.
And as he stakes his claim upon you,
You will know at last the feeling that you engendered on the child that you sired,
The knowledge that he owns you, and there can be no escape,
You will never know love without knowing that his claim is first upon you,
And he can touch you freely,
No matter where you hide, or in whose arms,
Telling you always that there will never be another who can love you as he will -
And unlike you, he has the power to make good that threat,
Your so-seductive thief of love and life and hope.
It's your turn now, old man.

He will take you.
It is inevitable.
Know that.
Feel that.
Understand that.
Let the understanding of it seep through every artery and vein,
Deep into your limbs, and into your very core.
You will be his.
The choice is not your own.
And so you are already his, knowing that he owns you,
And can claim you at any moment of his choosing.
And once he takes you to his bed, you will never leave it,
But lie there, locked into the eternity you once made me know,
And I hope some spark of consciousness remains to know the pain
As death makes you his own in every way.
It's your turn now, old man.

And I?
I will walk free, and young, and upright.
And I will know.
And you will know.
And I hope that as he takes you,
Using the weaknesses of your body to exercise control,
And bind you in an unending moment of frozen fear and pain,
That you will know
It didn't have to be this way.
You chose this ending
When you chose to act this part to others.
And so now you will die alone,
Unloved,
Reviled for the thing you chose to be
By all you leave behind within the world.
And your consciousness may end with your body, that is true;
But if there is any justice,
Your sense of time will end a moment sooner,
And make of that last second an eternity
In which you are frozen, victim -
It's your turn now, old man.

It will be a good day,
When you die, old man.
For then at last the world will join me in my hard-won happy state,
And it and I will
Both
Be
Free from you.

It's our turn now, old man.

10 May 2001