Cemented corner rests against my spine.
Comparing cracks with one another
talking of past times.
Still shady as the day drags on
I gaze towards walks of life.
Colorless and out of breath
and no one even bates an eye.
Oh helplessness this seems like death,
but my feet still feel life’s grass,
and so I face the in-between,
wait for a life that’s past to pass.
Well, this old man’s shaky fingertips
have tipped an hourglass,
and I’ve placed death’s sickle close at hand
to lend it when I’m asked.