The Tracks of Our Years

The color has drained

From our hair.

Our skin shows

The tracks of our years.

We are not young

Our bodies mock us.

Your mind takes you

To darker places.

I can’t follow  you

I can’t help you now.

I am older and yet

I am younger.

Hand it to him

The Spirit Guide says

And I do not know

What it means

Lucky animals

To not know of “Death”

They must not starve.

They fear Eagle’s claws.

But it is not Death

As we know it.

Which is that we know

Not what it is.

But we know what time is

And that the color is

Draining from our hair

And Death is coming near.