Paused before the liquid timbre
of still reflecting glass,
a subtle riot carries on
retreating to the pass
where safe between the tone of youth
and wisdom’s keen desire,
squarely sits the aged denial
that pissed away life’s fire.
For there in mirror’s honest pond
the lines of age creep in.
There behind that child’s smile
the truth of time has been.
What of it then when bones decay
and all the steel’s to rust?
Will the temporal posts announce
gestalt there in the dust?
Will the meter stand to time
amidst each crafted lay?
Or will the echoes wrap the pen
and tuck it all away?
It passes in a moment,
chances caught leave most denied,
claims the yearning, clinging on
behind the aging eyes, defied.
Yet sparkled in the crystal blue
at flight in ether’s mystic truth,
does live the timeless heart, a poet,
penning hope to trade for proof.