Age… by Toni L.A. Cross

Age is a sly old stranger

who comes at the close of the day

Age is a regular charmer

who begs to come and stay

Age is like the furniture

you know him like your stairs

Age is a sly old stranger

he’ll catch you unawares

Tired.

Sometimes I get so tired. Tired of trying… day after day after day. I feel a sense of crumbling age creeping upon my youth. Pinning my eyelids down with the dust of so many somedays…

Every now and then, I shake my head, jerked from monotony by the unseen. For a little while, I feel lighter. My head held high, the corners of  my lips curving upward.

Then, once again, the sediment begins to cover me. It teams up with gravity and pulls at me slowly. Demanding nothings call my name over and over, chanting to the beat of my lethargic pulse.

And another day goes by… and I wonder.

the passage of life… by Toni L.A. Cross

when the seasons begin to blend

and the years start to run together

like wet paint left vertical
 
then age creeps upon you
 
like a heavy cloak
 
and moments flee into hours
 
which melt into days
 
and the weight drags you downward
 
to a royal stately bed
 
the chamber of passage
 
into the land without time
 
you begin to hear a music unearthly to the core
 
that makes you want to shed
 
everything you have ever known
 
to be free
 
open
 
bare
 
just as you were
 
before your birth
 
squeezed and compressed your being
 
into the confines of oxygen and clocks