Middle Age (1)
The minutes pour away like treacle,
last dregs on the side of the jar
that never seems to empty.
Waiting, trapped and transfixed
by the strange clock's hands,
you muddle through
the motions
of your
life.
Middle Age (2)
Middle age crept in while I waited to grow up,
slipped in silently between wistful games of make-believe
and conversations with lying mirrors.
Anticipation faded somewhere into panic,
into desperate lottery dreams of cheap fortune
and long, anxious nights awake,
Waiting to feel something inside me change.