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Birthday

Member since 2006 · Posted 15 Mar 2006 · 2 comments

The seconds cumulate to hours; And hours then to days and months finally to the dearth of time. As the year moribund like a morning dew. Today it is just another day But they say it is my birthday For me it doesn’t count As far as the bird sings in the radiance of the dawn. But one or two grey hairs In the midst of those dolled up greens Make me rather shrink Promulgating those torturous thoughts That many such years make my age.

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2 comments

[7] Ranger 15-Mar-06/7:41 AM Reply

Last stanza was pretty good, didn't like 'torturous' though, I reckon you could find something more effective and less overused there.
Stanza 1 was a little dry...it works, but isn't spectacular. Same for the first line of stanza 2.
Other than that it's alright.

[7] ecargo 15-Mar-06/8:44 AM Reply

Clearer than some of your others. How is "a" morning dew moribund (on the point of death, but moribund also has the connotation of stagnancy, a lack of vitality, and dew, in contrast, changes to something else). Also that 'moribund' line isn't a complete thought, it just flops around limply.

I think I see what you're saying here, but it seems a rather wordy way to say that age doesn't matter, and, yet, it does.