I am not tired, just a pair of scars
Have etched the skin across an aging face
Below the eyes in which the spirit thrives,
Forever young, eternally amazed.
They come and go: sensations of the life,
A never ending vertigo of days.
I gradually see there's nothing mine
Except that spirit aimlessly amazed.
I am not crazy, just a speck of dust
Has fallen calmly on the fading eyes
And turned 'em in a pair of glaring scars
Foreboding once my premature demise.
Today I'm older than my younger self -
A tiny soul as little as a grain.
The clock again as ever's striking twelve -
The time has come, the time has me to claim.
Yet, there's a thing I promised to enjoy,
Not quite a thing, not something to possess;
My mind it is, most venomous decoy...
I'm waiting for the thing to give me rest.