Reality is the Irregularity of the Past.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Aging Too Well

Age’s ocean has come t’elude our youth

And wash what divots beget in wrinkle;

As so many forgotten shores uncouth,

And unjust waves raise the surface crinkle.

Old the way we grow in the space-full time,

Ravaged by the Earth’s eternal spectrum,

Opossum’s worst idea, naming cats in rhyme,

Rolled, riveted and rivaled in lustrum;

Impotent on the shady hill waiting,

Petrified, these sundried fruits, tangy-rancid,

Insolent to tinge, change fearing, fading

Peppered in hindrances vulgar and timid;

In come the tides of time with eager lances;

Rip-chord overtures with youthful dances.

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