Suddenly

I cannot say how the years have passed.
They did, at first, in ones and twos,
Then fives, then tens, so many gone,
Yet also, strangely, looming near.
My kids have grown. They are not kids.
My hair is gray. My muscles ache,
Yet so much seems so much the same.
The consciousness still who he was,
The past still present: memories,
Which bleed into the time remaining,
Years which wait to pass.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 82 times
Written on 2014-01-30 at 14:27

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