What time is this?
What age of man?
My body feels so broken.
What day is it?
What place is this?
I've nothing left to try; I have done all I could.
Who knows what will become of my life?
When I am done in, will my words remain unspoken?
We all become our mother's daughter,
Or we become our father's son.
As beauty fades, we seek the shade;
The sunshine is no longer attractive.
In modern times, there is money to be made,
In anything; if we are not too distracted.
The hopes of youth are not often followed through;
Such dreams are fanciful.
If you became the same as you had wished for in youth;
Would you still be so grateful?
Such ambitions are usually far-fetched;
Only realistic aims are achieved.
The fountain of youth is wasted on you;
Accept your fate and leave the next generation to grieve.
Age is just a number and your number is up.
You have lived a long and interesting life, so embrace the end.
Time is continuous;
We are not.
On this you can depend.
(C) 2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem