I don’t know about this one. It’s a little rough. I think it needs something. Severely lacking in hope and warm fuzzies, to be sure, but something else. What do you think?
Time is moonlight through the branches
of a tree that once sat lower in the window
It’s the gray hair in the washbasin you notice while brushing your teeth.
The teenage screams of “I hate you” and the slamming of doors,
Doors that once could not be shut for fear of being too far from you.
Time is the ache that once whispered,
And now holds you hostage.
Time is the moon and gray hair
A change of pace,
The wobble of temperament,
And the cruel device flashing revelations in pops and crackles of bone and joint.
Time is the tired vacancy of your parents’ eyes and the sudden realization
That you will be an orphan in less time than you’ve already lived.
It is the knowledge that they will be gone…
And so will you…
And that howling teenager, once so sweet a baby,
And we think it so unfair…so sad.
But our thoughts and laments do nothing to change it.
Nothing we do will ever stop it…
Because Time is an uncaring bastard,
who marches by and leaves you along the side of the street,
waving your tired little human flag.
And nothing matters really.
We humans are so infantile, never growing in our short span of century.
Cry babies for truth and justice,
Never grasping that we lack the ability to really understand there is no truth…
Justice nothing more than a construct of simple neurons needing to find order.
We are not ready for truth, we are not big enough for justice.
Nice try, pea brain.
You can barely remember where you parked your car.