Slapped by the vicious hand of time
truth sits perched, atop it's finger.
Blood is drawn, and turns to wine
through life's infernal wringer.

Days accumulate like miles,
they take their toll in distance.
As sun baked earth, cracks a smile
travel on... despite resistance.

The bruised fruits of my labor,
lashed above my tired eyes.
On I charge, with pointed saber
for surrender I despise.

Rip Van Winkle wakes with fright,
paint faded, worn to metal.
Four lustrum gone... overnight
my prime, did time embezzle.

Decades passed in clouds of dust
forever fleeting mortal flesh
Chrome obscured with time and rust

past and future, how they mesh!

Much has changed I now admit
in my youth, age but a number.
I'm too old now, to rest or quit
with spirit unencumbered!

Inspired by featured image "Desert Time" artist unknown © Sep 2015, Michael J. Nappi