Tired

I'm tired. getting old and gray little left to say; a mere observer of this world's cries contemplating the hows and whys; all those wherefores, ifs, ands, buts of when and where life cuts, time became so slow it appears a mystery fleeting along the paths of history suddenly downhill, stagnant movement within the standstill; a keepsake at best, sleeping without rest, waking with little words or phrases, obsessed by what was past ages, what should have been of life's written pages, and what is yet to be said of marking time lost, yet forging ahead; but I'm too tired somehow, observing once more, the past that is now.