A poem about aging.


How hastily my day doth gray
And brimming cup with said decay
Like slipping sand in tightened grasp
Falls one by one and first to last,

Oh billows drift me to and fro
See not bearing, yet they go
From left to right with indecision
Tempting such to block clear vision,

Thence forth! Thence forth! clock bellows nigh
It quickens blood and body sighs
With burden soaked into the crevasse
When aged it leaves its faintest kiss,

Are eyes to close in sweetened black
From lost embraces leaving slack
If foot should stumble breath should also
So’s to not break parallel tempo,

Rising chest of slow and spoil
To breath its last in ache and toil
And palm which once knew grains of sand
Releases clench as time did plan.

-Aubrey Mayne


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