Sunday, 3 April 2016

Mortal (3.4.16)

Standing still, mortality has a distant look,
Somewhere far away and long mistook
For an end-time friend, you send
It messages sometimes, your end
A leisurely contemplation over tea,
A holiday reflection in the sea
Of future life. Moving slowly, time
Will, slowly, accelerate the chime
Of days passing by, ticking over weeks
Of months that line your cheeks
As years go on; you stand, still, here,
Feeling the tide rise, the wind fall, and fear.

©Mary Parker 2016 

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