You wake up and you see that,
you are not who you used to be.
Brown spots on your skin,
tremor, and the mirror, brashly
the same; A live photograph
as a reminder. A reflection that
never lies, showing a man made
out of dust, who lay down last
night as a freshly dug up piece
of clay.

One blink of an eye and like in
an hourglass, life pours out as a
smooth sand. Young, ambitious
poet in front of a mirror,
looking into his past. From clay
to dust, from dust to clay, it’s a
cycle of life until the ambition
evaporates into thin air, like a
water drop on a hot summer
Sun.

You wake up and you realize
that you won’t wake up
tomorrow.



(First published in The Scene & Heard Journal)