Nothing spares us -
not the fiction of contentment
in these 'middle' years (too near
the end we dare not call the winter
of our discontentment)
nor the lightly held delusion
there is time enough, still waiting
in the finite but unknowable
days, months, years, decades
ahead (we hope) the time beyond.
Beyond what, I wonder?
The silences speak volumes.
The absences become companionship,
familiar like old friends
who need not say one word
to make their meaning crystal clear.
This is the future, as foretold
by the Beatle who broke up the band
or, as Spock once said, it's life Jim
but not as we know it.
.
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