I looked into a mirror, my hair had grown Old
Streaks of white like longish ghosts haunt me as songs of time
Those years past spent on a doldrums sea
Avoidance, gaps in terminable days, the delirium of youth
Supplanted by What?
The answer in growing old
Replaced by calm? At peace with this roiling world?
Someday they will come. The mocking time. The longish ghosts
Poetry Pantry #392
5 hours ago