In the Twilight of our Years
A poem.
A poem.
As shadows of the evening swell,
and eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar,
memory takes us to days of indolence,
and the painless green of youth.
Strands of fond remembrances unwind,
blowing fiercely against this desert sand
which sifts silently in the hourglass of our souls.
I must guard these precious moments.
Age is but a phoenix borrowed from the sun,
and destiny is but a notion,
merely white glitter, forgotten notes.