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Turning The Page On Age-Version 2- by- Matthew F. Blowers III
The years crept
in so quietly
like a mouse
snatching the cheese
from the jaws of a trap
and then getting caught.
Flesh drawn tight
and pinched,
held down and
slowly dying.
The lines
beginning to form
so many frown lines,
just under the surface
trembling,
and the laugh lines
not so funny anymore.
Where does time go,
after its nervous tick,
when it is done tock-ing
how did I wind up
second hand.
Memories are a narcotic
lulling me to sleep,
it's timeless there,
where the little boy in me,
dances across a tree limb,
laughing at any chance to fall.
Love comes and goes,
smoothing my face with hope,
but in the end,
bitterness scars.
Even now my pen
denies my muse,
replaying old words
in an endless loop
and so I desist.
There are only so many
Memories to expound on
So many past experiences
Fading like memory as I age. ....
Even songwriters eventually
Fall silent as instrumments
draw dust and vocal chords
Lose the strength to hold notes.
I will bow out before that occurs
There are too many old singers
Who no longer should be touring
And simply making audiences sad
View all episodes
By Art~Whimsically YoursThe years crept
in so quietly
like a mouse
snatching the cheese
from the jaws of a trap
and then getting caught.
Flesh drawn tight
and pinched,
held down and
slowly dying.
The lines
beginning to form
so many frown lines,
just under the surface
trembling,
and the laugh lines
not so funny anymore.
Where does time go,
after its nervous tick,
when it is done tock-ing
how did I wind up
second hand.
Memories are a narcotic
lulling me to sleep,
it's timeless there,
where the little boy in me,
dances across a tree limb,
laughing at any chance to fall.
Love comes and goes,
smoothing my face with hope,
but in the end,
bitterness scars.
Even now my pen
denies my muse,
replaying old words
in an endless loop
and so I desist.
There are only so many
Memories to expound on
So many past experiences
Fading like memory as I age. ....
Even songwriters eventually
Fall silent as instrumments
draw dust and vocal chords
Lose the strength to hold notes.
I will bow out before that occurs
There are too many old singers
Who no longer should be touring
And simply making audiences sad