The Albatross of the Old

I see death everywhere.
On the face of the man driving the other car.
In the wilted and decaying flowers.
In my memories of coffins and tombstones.

Like a timer where every moment is represented by a single piece of sand.
Sliding along the glass to demise.

I see time on the lines etched into my face
growing ever more distinct.
I feel it as my body revolts to do things it used to without a protest.
I know it as I watch the bodies of my children losing their childhood.

 Like a hunter who never wearies,
insistent on his prey,
not satisfied until the kill.

Time executes the living.

As I grow older, nearer to death,
I feel it more vividly.
For it is the albatross of the old to know how quickly a life passes.
A dead weight that colors all,
that is ever present--even in the midst of joy and laughter.
Death is always the accompaniment.

I wonder if the companionship of death makes living more rich.
A reminder to not succumb to misery
but instead to grasp every particle of sand and
wring all bits of life from it.
Ensuring that the entirety of one's life was focused on
good and true and honorable.

January 20, 2019