OLDER

I flinch wandering past the serious glass
as into middle age, death’s anteroom, I walk,
as though to an exam unstudied for; no laugh
for the relentless tick-tock of the clock.
Older than you, please listen, I was young
and idealistic too, once, believe me if you dare,
but entropy creeps onward, never resting long,
dictated by Thermodynamics’ Second Law,
and having gone before you, I’ll say this -
Love is here, and hope still, nostalgia too,
be wary where you spread your emphasis:
under the setting sun lies nothing new.
Observe and notice that the swarm of clowns
are plumper as they pull the big top down.

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