by Richard Vince

This light is unforgiving: it ages
My hands like the harsh air
Of winter.

My words age me too. It seems
So long ago that the things
About which I write were
Components of the real world.

I saw oceans and vast skies
And knew that I was a
Tiny part of a big world;
Now all I see is the pavement,
And I wonder why my eyes
Cannot see as far as once they did.

There is so much I have forgotten
That I remember.


Posted on 11/29/2012
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Charlie Morgan on 11/30/12 at 03:55 PM

...yes, yes. each line carries a tome; felt the whiplash at the end.

Posted by Charlie Morgan on 11/30/12 at 03:57 PM

...the aged hands...ahhh, i can remember when i noticed my hands began to look like my dad's.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/01/12 at 02:48 AM

There is no glossing over in this piece. When I see my hands in photographs now, they are startling. I don't mind being dated by my words, but I'm starting to resent having to use a bigger font size. :) You've treated this subject with a straight forward approach that I appreciate.

Posted by George Hoerner on 12/02/12 at 12:50 PM

Ah yes, "time" the one variable scientists and philosophers alike can not truly define. And now they say the jelly fish is the one living thing which may never die. But they have never asked the poets now have they. Great write Richard.

Posted by Gregory R Schelske on 12/03/12 at 12:48 PM

Wonderfully complex in its simplicity. Such a harsh reality this aging thing. Thank you for sharing with us.

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