Notes

Is it getting dark?
Or is that my vision fading
Age masquerading as
A dimmer switch
Controlled by all those years not caring

When philosophy slumbers
And the heart resides
Where mind and soul are absent
An ancient barrow
Filled with nature’s harsh impediments

The path is rutted deep
From multitudes preceding
Uncounted throngs
A premonition
Still empty as unwritten songs

Each year the future less
The past seems longer now
The shift conceding
A mirrored truth
With greying hair receding

No mind nor heart yet longs
For such an end as others
Seen through mist
A shadowed glass
What in hindsight have I missed?