Silence

Ageing

Silently, with stealth unbecoming,

The hands of time grips ever tighter.

With aforethought timing,

it folds every fighter.

Like an avalanche waiting on a noise,

It rushes suddenly upon the unsuspecting.

No mortal has been known to  keep its poise,

Faced with something so devastating. 

Shattered hopes and dreams fill,

The hour glass of time.

A fear of inadequacy  does bestill,

Our not living as a crime.

Like a thousand excuses postponed,

Tomorrow may eventually never come.

Expired sands, not upended,

Theatres sad mask does become.

Regretfully, regretted excuses of negligence,

Brings not back Times grains of sands.

Nor ranting, raving, lunatic belligerence, 

Will stop a clocks onward moving hands.

Inevitable as the tides timeously timed symphony,

Nothing will stay the inevitable march.

Callous wishes made through a voiceless cacophony, 

Will stop ones ageing whilst in Times arch.

Eventual release, though we wish not,

Will free our trapped souls, from these aged husks. 

Though, through our journey we become besot,

We must surely embrace all potential dusks.