Clutching,
grasping, holding on,

just barely.

Gulping hungrily,
each breath,

fearing the onset of the years,

the splinters of time,

embedding,
piercing our days and nights with trepidation,

encroaching upon this moment,

the very now,

this life we lead,

as we walk, in a daze, numbed by repetition,

embalmed by the cocoon that lets nothing in,

the gnawing fear of tomorrows yet to dawn,

as we sift through strands of greying hair,

seeking clues,
the because to the whys,

the slow mornings,
and the restless nights,

all just jabbing, prodding reminders,
as the years, and the decades,

scurry,
scamper,

and flee,

while we feel it all slipping away,

standing,
immobile,

stilled by the implacable sentinels at the doorstep,

these immovable sentries,

of time itself,

that conceal the door,

that leads to a better today