The Moth and the Candle

There is a man with the pain of a thousand years
Listed on a face haggard with the suffering
His bones creak and squeal to a tune of laments
The shuffling sounds of tattered clothing bare
Smells of decay and neglect are his unpleasant aura
His eyes see through me to people no longer there
Standing in places changed beyond recognition
Vituperative progress has destroyed them forever
He moves with difficulty, this creature of time
Burdened by the weight of ages, Hair white, eyes rheumy
I look at a future I dread to ever happen
Of the inevitable end of this fragile flesh
Weep, aye, I weep for the years to flow before me
I see a gap-toothed grin of benign idiocy
And an outstretched palm for relief from incompetence
I hail, hail the appearance of the end of my time