So we are told to stop and smell the roses. I guess that means to take stock of one's surrounding and revel in the gift of life. Well, that action doesn't necessarily bring one to some Pollyanna conclusion of the living experience. At times, stopping and smelling brings one to the awareness of passing time and its effect on life.
On Aging
As the days dwindle down to a few,
As the page gets further from the eyes,
And the hair grows straw like, wispy,
As clothes becomes fashion-less,
And others wait impatiently while we dawdle – purposefully,
While we linger with the next act – methodically,
And others have since sped to their appointments,
When the hours blend and purpose remains elusive,
When talks turn to things long gone --
The eyes, crow feet-ed blink looking for tears,
When the music is unknown,
When the cold is colder and the hot unbearable, death like,
What once was known is forgotten,
When what was once certain is uncertain,
When the sunsets and sunrises collide,
And simple things amuse – rapport with a child,
When the mind grows vacuous,
And the wind scatters the soul piecemeal,
When the lonely days and lonely hours diminish
To a precious few, while the breath fades,
And the body relents and we exhale but for the last time
And, then silence and cold conjoin,
And our soul burns out like an ember.
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