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At Dusk
by Uriel TovarHow gradually youth
Leaves these hands
Second by second
They grow ever more
Wrinkled and lose
Their strength
Forgetting the art they shaped
The friendships they forged
And the lovers they held
A solid grip now pained
By the simple task of
Twisting a lidded jar
My father’s hands were once
Like this
Undergoing the same transformation
From usefulness
Unto weariness
Struggling to sustain
What they once were
Time flows steady
Streaming through us
Unaware
We get caught in
A current leaving us further then
We’d ever thought we’d be
How gradually youth leaves these
Hands
Leaving a weary body
To think of such things.
04/12/2013 Posted on 04/12/2013
Copyright © 2025 Uriel Tovar
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 04/12/13 at 05:07 PM My father died quickly at 54 so he never went completely through the aging process. I'm not sure if that is fortunate or un. I've out lived him by 20 years and I'm not sure that is fortunage or un. But I've been far more fortunate than un been luckier than most no doubt. One day when people live to 15o I wonder if they will also look back and ponder what they are and how they got there. |
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