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Wasting Away
Like clouds scudding before the wind
The days fly by to become years.
The shape of each, though different,
So similar it illicits tears.
What day marked maturity?
Which one began the stealth?
Why does life not carry a warning?
"Prolonged abuse may endanger your health!"
Jess, thanks for leading me to this powerful piece. Sad and depressing the words may be, but you are right, the mere realization of these facts, and writing about them, is indeed a form of therapy. I love this poem, thanks for sharing with me.
Tricia