A bit of philosophy and introspection, with an even-paced lyrical sound.

Now my mind
has reached the peak
of what it used to be.
I don't think I can
make it through
another century.
What is here, I cannot say
it's what I'd like to see,
but how am I to ask the question
about this grateful scene?

The grace of dawn is moving
to an endless twilight grave,
and the evening stars are crying
for the lives they might have saved.
No one ever noticed
the whisper in the wind
or the spry young fawn a-calling
for a hunter's straight sighting.

My life has fought a long way
from its innocent burgeoning.
Youth was never something realized
so we forget it,
or try to reclaim it.
Either way it never is again.
Never was,
or was it something they sang about
in the days when we were roundabout,
traveling circular, languishing
in the sunlight?

I look into a photograph,
wondering how it came to
capture your face,
and now I realize,
it's not your face I seem to seek.
It's just a reality,
what always will be, because it was,
and now I've got to find another
road away
from this dreaded place
beyond my mind's
degeneration.