On Turning Twenty-One br (the sound, the fury) br br With today, twenty-one years br has been wasted to make a fool; br all squandered years br and thrown away ambition br and first hope as well. br My regrets for the pointless efforts br of parental prayers, br and the flesh-dancing bones br and the skull that smiles- br though trapped, though trampled br since that inward aspect br hates itself. br br Yet even this hate is wasted br and the moment, now- br candles will flame away, br crumbles the cake and the years br like tears fall down. br All of everything br fearfully in mind- br as if so desperate br to stay alive- all fails; br and body's own self-tomb br that first strains br with infant urge br to burden down a womb. br br br br On Turning Seventy-One br (signifying nothing) br br Look in mirror br some old snow. br You were young. br Does it show? br br Look in mirror br Is that you? br 'Living's deadly, ' br Mirror's view. br br (On reflection- br It's quite true.