Downcast, cast down, life’s curtains close.
Lights dim. Grim cleaners sweep away
toxic containers as last day
slips silently where no-one knows.
Final farewell may faintly spray
nostalgic tears before breath flows
so fast from cast off shadow-shows
that those still acting in the play
shake, shiver, quiver, quake, betray
self-doubts which water log, bog clay.
What bitter taste, what waste, life’s woes
owe each, as each too early knows
in turn Time’s tide sucks marrows dry,
in urn, spurned rictus, questions “why”?
A face, a place, run race, no trace
to tear the veil that memory
within a generation we
trash out of fashion, petty pace
is torn - born, past, life-lines unlace,
shot bolt shoot chute as history
itself, one day, may cease to be.
What tears stream from lost cause, lost case,
what subterfuges to replace
youth's mirage, mirror brain drain. See
pain's pane, bane [p]ages tsunami,
paints vain complaints, return to base.
When coup de grâce falls frozen tears
are all we thaw from washed out years.
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Sighhh...You've penned this one almost too well, dear Scribe...for I know what is required of one in order to gain this kind of insight. Still, you know I love your words, my Friend. 
