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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required At the ripe old age of seventy something one begins to notice the clouds that have formed in the mind creating a veil betweens one's consciousness and the world around them. It seems that things that were once important in one's youth and middle age now seem to appear as almost meaningless, hidden behind the clouds as vague recollections of someone else's life. The frequency of friends and relatives passing becomes more intense and a feeling of being alone even when surrounded by a crowd begins to invade one's mind leaving one searching through the clouds for the necessary meaning to what life lay ahead. Daily thoughts turn to examining all of life's possessions and a burning desire to divest oneself of "things" that were once important to you becomes a daily occurrence and one drifts through endless hours unable to clear the clouds and begin the task at hand. Thoughts turn to the nature of man and his seemingly insatiable quest to choose evil over good and the clouds darken from white to grey to black because one feels helpless to change that which seems to be predestined. Every day becomes a battle to clear the clouds so one might reclaim the exuberance of youth and the feeling that there are more worlds to conquer ... but alas, the clouds drift in suffocating the mind and all energy is once again lost. It would seem that we are here only for an instant. A life is no longer than the twinkle of a distant star. The clouds that gather as our internal light begins to dim is but a reminder that all life must ultimately come to an end. And such is the cycle of life.
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