29 years, 11 months, 25 days

There’s no eluding physics, is there
Still we cobble together milestones, like millstones, to bring this truth to bear
Furrowing our brows with base emotions like doubt, regret, and fear

May I invoke liberation from this perilous decline, come so suddenly steep?
For fitful, virginal imaginations have laid me low
With a soul I rarely hear from asking, “What have our days amounted to but pure capriciousness?”

I hadn’t noticed those hot-air balloons of youth, being shot through by Time’s blunderbuss
I should have heard the echoing of each volley, “Here his time comes closer!”, as they whistled over the birthday candles
I guess I heard clapping instead (they all celebrated! and they knew!)

But now I hear, clear like crystal, this clarion of a checklist banging on my breast
Doubt, did you bring this excruciating existentialism onto me?
You have me as an amoeba under a microscope, a solitary cell

Here I am, circling Saturn, like a dog in space
Paddling against a lack of matter, barking into the lonesome dark
Without proof to any of my theories

Can you smell the burning metal?
It’s the aching cogs of inevitability, chewing up my spanner

But lo, Grandma’s just slapped me, and there’s the trick
Said, “There’s no elixir, no snake oil, so let fly the towel.”
“Why back-peddle against this sucking tide, you’ve made many seconds count.”
(though some got away from me…)

Yes, my vitality may be flecked with the salty spittle of age
And 30 may expect surety of me
But I’m breathing the moon dust of ‘what if’ for a little while yet


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