Time

...

Letters read clearer away from the eyes.

White streaks peek within the black tress.

Eyeliner detours along creases of smile.

Someone must be coming of age.

Coming of age - was a matter of time

Waiting with bated grace,

Ready to embrace

Time.

At length, death.

Down the steps they call age.

Warmth of proses and silence of poems

Millions written and re-read to heart,

On inevitability, vulnerability, morbidity, beauty

Of Life; of Time; its end.

Soothed and unsettled. Time and again.

But fearsome nights still throttle the soul

Beyond all solace and quiet

Faces dissolving, voices fading,

Reality blurring out white.

Is it me, is it someone, 
Is it a voice that called...

Is it a hand that blessed each day

And said

I could be loved.

Coming of age - is a matter of time

Waiting with bated grace,

Ready to embrace

Time;

That, in a moment, devastates.