God, has it been that long,
And not a day you lived,
You get up, and go to bed,
And in-between you have some bread,
Six or seven times a day you pray,
Do callisthenics, a little work,
That’s how you fill the day,
From June, again till May,
In your mind you live and die,
You fret the day it is to be,
Though, here it’s been, all along,
Your mind, it sings that song,
Another birthday, like a canyon or a rift,
Another edge grown in your mind,
Now soon, the jig is up you think,
Sixty eight, is pretty near the brink,
By the promise of the stars of hope,
A spider web of time has caught your wings,
Last efforts and a struggle you might wage,
More and more you’re wrapped in rage,
A good wind might blow you over,
Free you, for a fall with tangled wings,
Down below the canyon sings,
Of ghosts, of times eternal springs.©09/11/2010
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