By the time you get old

 
By the time your ashen, peony-skin becomes wrinkled, the misery of your fertile lap has been ravaged by the cobwebs, you will know: you too were created from fallible Endidu material, and your exotic body can only be held together by the fear between action and will!

By which time you will wake up three times in the gloomy full moon of nights, because early on you will also be addressed by the compelling need, where the disguised, cosmeticized old age has been forced into the toilet bowl: you will find yourself in a hesitant, thieving torpor. When you will be forced to walk with your third helping leg, like Oedipus-asked revelation, know: the benevolent holy fetters of law and moral order have been deprived of you in modern times, when your humanity was laughed at with your swan-like gesture: leder joy girls-teenagers, 70-year-old bachelors.

When the agony and bone-crunching pain of martyrdom approaches you with hip surgery, you will learn: interest and merit have always formed a two-faced right in the hands of greedy profiteers - crushing the victims' hopes for cynical profit, like vultures circling over their prey, they strike.

By the time your witnessing grandchildren come to look at you longingly, to ask curious questions, the memories of the golden age of your long-suffering past, your terror - the trap of certain passing away - would squeeze your heart, the coronary asteroids of aortic aneurysms grow like silent killers in the tunnels of your body, and no one will be so prepared, as a sheet of paper, a serviced notebook, that you have consciously, reliably, and permanently freed yourself from your Alzheimer's that feeds your Léthe forgetfulness!