:: Close of Day ::

I watched him today with intimate detachment, and I realised he's become an old man. And my heart fell off the edge of gravity. Old age should burn and rave at close of day―but this particular one has no rage, no will, and no light.

***

A Daughter's Discord

Old age sees with time-worn eyes
Burning with a pale pallid fire,
Craddling the grave of its own
Sullen philosophy.
I watch you shuffle
Your feet,
Dragging your moody footfall,
In bid to live, and in time to death.

You are disinclined, now;
And you drink of life like a bottle of
Cheap absinthe.
Today you tell me your aches, your pains, your
Glorious fall to ruin;
Tonight you sleep and you toss to an oblivious
Void, where I cannot reach, or breach:

You say, you can do no more
And you implore
For me, for them, to atone for
The passing of your time with our lucid abandon.

Flintlocked anger, like a cyclotron of truth
Dawns on me like a violet storm;
I struggle to stay afloat, even as you
Singe me with the same fire that has turned you
Rancid.

***

My girls. You've taught me beauty and the faith of friendship. I look to you all for these golden moments of laughter and familiar meaning. I understand it now―the chasm is me, it has always been me―it's just another shining example of my putrid selfishness. You can't imagine how much I miss laughing the way I did last night―without guile, without thought, and without the sour aftertaste of sadness. Thank you.

***

No one is looking; they love butterflies, and I am a moth drawn to pale fire.