I am about burning the candles again,
one, two, three .... twenty four.
And my lids are heavy with slumber
they refused to wake to the truth that we are getting old
that youth is a frail garment that hides behind time
and blinds us, that we see time as a friend
and cuddles it,
willing it to stay with us.
A new day is the twin of yesterday
only refreshed, nor pure nor blemished yet.
somehow, we have the minutes in our finger
thinking it so,
that while hours elapses into thin air,
and the seconds running by are 9
when don't heed their danger.
I am about burning the candles for twenty and four
standing where I left myself
and time left me,
and I am puzzled, riddled, amazed
at how time flew,
without wings; unnoticed
while we lay here, ticking the minutes awa