What is this? this thrashing and turning this hunger for an end this thirst for peace and nothingness? What is this staring? this spot upon my lidded shades this search for darkness this looking into night for a piece of blackness in shadow? What is this quiet? this rhythmic breath this autonomic pull I count…
When Are We Old?
When changing leaves fall light When flower fails to fruit When bark withers and cracks When trunk no longer bends When branches break and fall When the roots cannot drink When children vanish from shadows When the sap runs cold … When is it old? © Dale Schierbeck 2014 Read more poetry here