Quiet As Snow (Poetry)

Age crept up on me —
stole through
my unlatched window
one still night
his shadow faint
upon the floor
his step so silent
that I never heard
or feared nor saw
a sign a trace
no evidence
he drifted in
as quiet as snow
and found me.

More half-asleep
than near-awake
the witching hours
of my life
frittered slow
or squandered lightly
in and out
of imagined scenes
those so-intense
re-written dreams
rehearsing youth
to get it right
while love played all
the leading roles
to an audience
of one.

It’s true I sensed
from time to time
a far-off whisper
in the gods
would filter down
to rouse — provoke
my muse to answer
whimsical
in tone distracted
vain — too self-
involved or vague
to think again
and simply make
the most of what-
ever lines
I’d got.

Then suddenly
it was too late
chance slithered clear
its growing thin
undulating snake
of three-score years
and all but
disappeared
into the shadows
shedding hope
behind it — yards
of grey
abandoned skin.

Now Age murmurs
consolation
offers small unwanted
prizes
out of pity
out of kindness
the briefest of
distractions meant
to ease the jolting
realization —
the cold shock
and gradual numbing
of sensation
how it’s better not
to know just when
the ache of
disillusion fades
to absolutely
nothing...

If Age is merciful
he’ll keep on
chipping at my memory
until the loss
won’t even make
an echo
and all the heartaches
in the world
will be as tales
of long ago
and I’ll sleep sound
and empty — free
from grieving.