How long will my light shine?
Oxygen feeds the flame and matures the wine;
Succumbs to the hands of that great thief: Time.
In gluttony, Time devours but is never full;
Knowing all expiration dates yet failing to tell –
Chronos there to witness our final breath expel
And swallow up the delicate minutes as children.
This desperation of unknowing creates anxiety;
A sense of urgency compounded by acrimony:
“Perhaps this hour, decade, or half-century!”
We wail, while wax drips harden on the floor.
Lamenting, crying o’er the days of yore.
Bargaining with fate not to be taken before . . .
But the Fates fail to listen.