At dusk I realize that there is more behind than there is in front.
Sleeping freedom on this autumnal earth.
Tempest tossed my ego lost…and found, on this autumn’s ground.
The mystery of man, my foreign shadows, what I could be, this old tree, soon to be cut down, I earned a living but, I never earned my life.
A strong poem Chris it has a disturbing edge.
This is a theme that I keep returning to too Chris.
Autumn is a word I seem to use so often, even 50 years ago.
DECIDUOUSLY DAUNDERING
The clock is ticking
Heart is flickering
Blinking at the days
Retinal occlusions
Macular protrusions
Fading features on a face
Broken glass
Heberden knows
In fingers not on toes
Sound’s last chance
Virtual advance
Ear muff to enclose
Hair is thin
Just hanging in
Follicles forestalling
Bitter sweet
Taste buds delete
Apart from in a morning
What was it I sat down to write
My mind is clearly wandering
Off the path down autumn’s lane
Deciduously daundering