Touch of a Feather

the time will arrive when the upcoming will be on the verge of present to past my bones may creak under pressure of life an ageing mind will be under threat of extinction epitaphs may cast inevitable shadows a fountain will struggle at the source still willing existence into essence but the ink in the pot viscously drained note to Self is to scrape gracefully at the barrel’s bottom to reach new heights to shelter my own voice from blindsight deafness of vision and to accept the light of contentment with a shaky quill in my hand only when my last word has been scripted with everything said and no deed to be done the flow of reason and feeling exhausted and the reaper close to harvest and home will I take the terminal bow and final good-bye and accept that it will not be up to me any longer to look after the worth of what future there is 02nd October 2021