A Deafening Sense of Mortality

 
 

It comes along, a certain song

A deafening sense of mortality

 

Just……there?

For a moment

Cold outside and in

(No, not as in sin)

 

But so wryly aware

Of thinning of hair

Let alone what’s fair

Or fraying or threadbare

 

Flooding is a good word

As ocean waves pass clean

Through Hawaiian flecked trunks

Like a graying freight train

So runs this sensation

 

Not a stage but a passage

Below furrowing of brow

Then perhaps to know how

Only now comes clear the message

 

In measured voice of quiet certitude

Calmly spoken and assured

There’s nothing to be feared

Once shorn of all the platitudes

 

It leaves All alone, this knowing tone

This deafening sense of mortality

 

 

Copyright r.b.franklin 09/12/09

 

 

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