“the exodus of light”

for I am forced to observe
my future, my fortune unfold, to post
age-ed vessel
in rush grey and white
all colors have faded
the exodus of light
as the source grows dimmer
a once blazing beacon now meagerly flickers
cracks, wrinkles, crooked bent
words repeated, forgotten,
thoughts at a loss.
to the memory of my dear mother
or what is left
I dare not to grasp too hard
to break what remains to ash
and yet a memory
is all I will soon there have

with love, and thank you mom, your son.

notes… this was totally and utterly inspired by this post @ another blog, it was instant, it was done, it made sense, and also cut like a gun. age is a wonderful thing, time is a bastard robbing everything, do not confuse them as twins, understand them as best you can…