There's finality in a sunset.
Beauty too to be sure,
But beauty is like cool water to a parched tongue,
Tender words in troubled times,
The dog curled at one's feet;
These we accept without question, gratefully.
Watching without need of haste golden laminations in the west,
Crimson seeping to a cloud's underbelly,
The slow leaden drift of night
Stings consciousness of inexorable ends,
Brings down the curtain on a day
And tweaks mind's tribunal to enquire:
"What have you to say as time drains away?"
And I, with untouched resolves,
Acknowledge habit's easy slide,
The daily drift, the cliche-ridden ride.
Speechless I stand, another day older
Staring at a light-leeched sky
Watching countless days float like dandelion seeds
Far and lost to sight.