FATHER TIME

When did they gather; like withered old lace, these frailty lines; that crevasse my face. I chased life; hell bent on try, but the years have misted; to the hands father time. I torture my soul; assessing each stage, it bolts so quickly; page after page. Once was a child; teen; married; then father, the days ran indifferent; my stoicism did armour. Never aware of my loss; or pondering my final hours, I stand before gates; before judgement I cower. I chased my youth; in a futile hard dash, now in a silent rage; I go to my final breath. Where did the man go; who set a good pace, I wonder to self; as tears slowly glaze.