Each Morning - ON WRITING AND RUNNING

Each morning I find myself adrift
In an astronomical shift
While my mind starts to sift
Through past and present tense
I'm probably narrow minded
As selfishness had me blinded
But I'm frequently reminded
About my lack of common sense
I think I've reached a ceiling
That prevents any inner healing
And I seem immune from feeling
My judgment's in decay
I have difficulty talking
Let alone I'm barely walking
And the brain is always balking
As my sanity falls away
I'm usually staring at the sky
Watching planets passing by
Wondering 'bout the where, the why
In my search for serenity
I'm on board an astral plane
In the hope that I'll refrain
'Cause I tend to go insane
As I deal with senility