poetry coner

The years that defined prime youth drifted passed her like shadow shades contrasting the sun cast light! Every hour glides over the other as an echo of itself A mirror A reflection A ceal folded seven times over Her life is wasting away, She is quickly becoming nothing A ghastly ghost hosted by a hose of a body whose form is rapidly deteriorating! She is becoming nothing!!

  There is greyness in my eyes that wasn't there before A touch of cloudy vision and blurred lines As if age is slapping me with recognition for the very first time Now all I see is day's light that almost fades away Nights blackened darkness that comes sooner that it should Lingers longer than it should And comes back more eager than it should Be There are memories I almost don't remember Significant thoughts that come as quickly as they live If I could I would jot them down But there is weakness to joints Frail bones There are strands of grey entangled along my black shrub that dresses my skull There is grey lines to my vision now If I fall I can't bring myself to stand If I sit If I lay me down If I bend, there are bones that won't straighten up with a fight It is on this days when I find that I like the sun on my back and soil on hands I like weeds off my garden if I can remove them myself I'll let the sun set on my bent head Just so I can give my garden re...