Loss

The eventual, inevitable creeping, Like slow rain on a cold day. It doesn't hit you till it's there. The realisation that the long, Fingers of fate crawled upon you, And took what's precious away. The ending of an era, Like the closing of an epic book. You hate to see it go, But you know it's time. And lingering on the air, That last, solitary, backwards look. You may wish with all your might, That it really wasn't so. Clinging to memories like a life raft, But even they begin to slip away, And you find yourself marooned, Wondering 'where did the time go?'