Memoirs

 
Some I knew

Took to drink

And died gladly.

 

Some I knew

Took to sex

And lived sadly.

 

There were writers

Who did not write

Or wrote badly.

 

Painters

Whose reknown

Was in their own

Fantasy.

 

Some I knew,

One or two,

Did well,

Of whom

There is nothing to tell.

Doom

Enveloped them,

Rigid with success.

 

Most failed.

Eyes paled.

Looks lost

Wives gone

Sons angry

Daughters bored.

 

One who was wild

Became a child

In a monastery.

 

Perhaps

Those who were doctors

Did the least harm.

 

I think of charm

Cancelled.

And ambition

Stencilled

On the wrinkled brow.

 

But I do know

Some who are happy,

Or almost so.

Mostly married.

For them

God be thanked.

 

They are kind

To themselves

And others

Have grown

Into loving brothers.

 

Theirs

Is the delightful face.

And they speak

Gently

Of the sad

And the bad

And those

Of the frozen

Success.