To this tiredness add heaviness,
a weighting down of me.
it’s like i’m carrying a burden
it’s one I cannot see.
There are beads of sweat upon my brow and yet somehow I’m cold,
life feels like a ton of lead if lead equates to getting old.
I can remember when on being young it wasn’t so
I used to float along the forest paths moving to and fro
but the green shoots they’ve all sprouted
I never doubted that they would
I am heavy with the evening light that slowly fades
shaded by the Autumn night in these, my favourite glades,
to lay me down and sleep at last
to wait until all time has passed,
I am not alone.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.