Time.
He grew old
faster than he was young.
When morning came,
it took so long to roll his legs
off the edge of the bed,
that he couldn’t always remember
when he was young.
He was living slowly,
and aging fast.
He watched the bodies of his enemies,
floating down the river;
but, it was the bodies of his friends
and lovers
that he didn’t want to see.
He never closed his eyes
without wondering if they would open again.
He knew that he would die,
sooner rather than later.
Would the pain linger,
or would he go out in a flash of fireworks
lighting up the sky?
His friends were mere reflections
of the people they really were,
and he looked into the mirror,
wondering whether they too saw
a reflected image
of him.
After a time,
the secrets that we hide from others
become more visible to ourselves.
Do we die sooner
if we look at them?
After coffee,
he realized that he had another present to open.
He didn’t have time
to waste, wondering what had or might have been.
He didn’t have time
to waste, on those who remained with him.
He didn’t have time
to worry, about the lives that others led.
He only had time
to live another day.
He only had time
to love another day.
He only had time
to eat another day.
He only had time
to be young again,
for one more day.