Here, I ponder and wander, thinking much, but not growing any fonder.
Years slip by like unraveling tapestry, shimmering slivers of silver – the ghost
Of lost memories, & how they haunt me!
The perishable good: the horrors of life coupled with its
Sinister planned obsolescence – duller and duller we become, until
On the shelf, devoid of meaning, we drip through the grates of Time;
Sagging skin, sunken eyes, and broken mirrors with reflections fast-fading,
From seed to flower, depreciating, the learned, aged stare at the sky, Death
And his mistress, Destiny, throw out a hand downward to those waiting.