End of the Day. A Poem on Getting Old

Allow yourself to dangle
over the edge of time.

Dark creeps in
between cracks
fading anthem
heavy curtains
such a sparse view
have I passed over
what appeared before?

Nowhere to see
nowhere to hide
as dark seeps through
windows, keyholes
cover objects
with its black coat
then nothing to see

Persistence cycles
signature of silence 
last breath to inhale
while others walk on
to say hello to
our shared destiny.

Light fades softly
you have no right.
to resist this
unannounced guest
I make slow moves
handheld banister
night creeps up  
behind footsteps
to mark day’s end.

The dark tiptoes
up the stairs like
a long-lost friend
guides me to the 
realm of the fall
of tired eyelids.

Oh the wonder of 
impending formless
- shadows can hide
myself from ageing
frail form and slow limbs
homage to tranquil 
hours all wrapped up
quiet descends on me. 

Dark creeps under 
the bed cover
on wintry night
duvet pulled up
could this be the last time?
for the Beyond to 
share its finality.

It is all so clear
not of light of day
not of the darkness
not revealed
not hidden
the end of the day 
know no beginning
nor knows ending.

That’s amazing.

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