Age

 

A truth born in obscurity,

like a child.

Its soft face

Clear skin.

It’s tiny, new

There is hardly a thought of Age’s existence then,

There is too much else that matters at birth

like an hourglass disregarded when first set.

Eternity is left, it seems.

 

Lived as a formidable thought.

A nearly nonexistent idea becoming hated

Time�"�" scheduled before passing

A despised freefall of years, hours, and moments,

Passing as quickly as a rotting acorn drops from a tree

Detached, falling, disappearing into the grass,

burying hopes and wisdom into seeds that may never grow,

all the while knowing that as its children do sprout from the ground,

Age shall, in fact, find its fate under the earth as well.

Still we beg for time to hurry for foolish wishes

�"�"heeded wishes

 

No longer an idea but a view

Beauty fading to reveal the unsightliness of Age’s seniority

Age shrinking its captive, suppressing past freedoms,

Ending hopes, passing on its secrets to new Ages in vain

Tears are shed,

Fears emerge

Anger bears its fruitless burden

And at last, Age, unlike its birth,

Dies�" in absolute certainty.