The veins on my arms
like the cobwebs of a hundred spiders
left behind by receding time.
The wrinkles on my face:
the dunes of sand
carved out by the tides.
Moments pass, turn into eternity.
I age, turn into my mother;
pain amplifies in my limbs
then turns sublime.
The mind sharpens its claws
Blurs the lines
I'm a little girl in your presence
At others, a goddess divine.
The misery becomes companiable,
like a long lost friend,
met after a span of time.
who understands my mind.
The fag end stretches before me beckons, and I walk
homeward bound.
Memories mingle with hope.
"Over-the-hill,
past my prime" I may be told,
But the mind plays tricks.
It claims, I'll be fine,
I will trump time.
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