Twist, Twisted Years

A lament on aging and mortality

Twist, Twisted Years

Retched orb beneath me twist your twisted years

Morning noon and night for days and months and years

And decades, centuries and Millenia; 

lightness and darkness; Fever and Chill, all twisted. 

Our gravities hold us each to the other.

I’m your passenger, my cyclic vessel.

You rifle us through vacuous dead space, 

But ah, to where? Why this travel? Why this? 

Our destination set toward the very place we depart,

cursed to ride this outless endless route to no end,

From start to beginning, on and on forever, to no end.

How much longer? I’ve spun for long enough now

That I’m ill with dizziness, and for every taken turn,

My complexion takes a turn for worse�"decay and age,

Faint to be sure, subtle change, but I feel it still. 

This, my vessel, is my fate, and I imagine it is as well yours.

The wear of our travel will exhaust us straight, and

Will deplete what stuff within us makes us vital

and then once gone follows is the forever sleep.

No longer a traveler of this existential realm but 

A stone among stones I’ll become, 

Having been committed into the cold comfort

Of grainy dirt, blanketed by earth, a traveller no more. 

Reviews

[Alex Boyd]

Well written and nice context keep it up.

[Terry Kant]

Thank you for the review.