Fine Lines
Someone made my days much shorter,
Yesterday I had so much extra time left over.
Today panic and creeping desperation,
Gets stronger towards dusk each day.
I’ve only ever felt this loss before in winter,
When seasons close her days far quicker.
Cosy woollens, crackling wood made fires.
Early darkness showing stolen images,
Of private lives, enhanced, on show.
Strangers surrounded, protected,
Wrapped in their golden light.
Outside frozen figures scurrying
Home to beat the black night.
No, this new dread is not any
Man made seasonal disorder.
As each new fine line appears
In dawns early morning mirror,
Minutes disappear from the clock,
Lost, rubbed out, gone forever.
A heartless swap it seems to me,
Wearing fine lines a cruel reality,
When realizing life’s true fragility.
There’s no time left, to stop, to wait and see.
Time, the most precious of commodities,
Gives no quarter, bears no sympathy,
She marches on relentlessly.
Snatching youth from those that dither,
Those who’ve realised far too late,
Tomorrow, you’re just a flicker.
Someone’s fading memory, a visitor,
That passes by reluctantly.
Now you’re the deliverer of her cruel reality,
When she discovers fine lines in her morning mirror.
Someone’s made her days much shorter,
Yesterday she had so much extra time left over.
