Time will have your skin wither;
Decay into dust and wrinkle.
A tissue with an incorrigible crinkle,
Like a snake it will slither.
It becomes the beating wind on a rock,
Or the water rapidly running down the riverbed;
Unable to stop or be halted in its stead,
And yet we find gall to mock.
What point is left to worry of life?
For all it will bring is great strife.
What kind of beauty do we measure
In our life’s mighty endeavor?
Light the fire of the torch,
And let the Flame fly high.
Eternity is left without a scorch;
For with a wrinkle clues death is nigh.

Very well done my friend, raw yet strong.

I agree! And very thought provoking, i like that it grabs you in an unusual way from most poems!

I very much liked that, thanks for sharing. We truely have some talented people on UM