middle age crisis

From the moment we are born,

we hear it

The loud sound of the clock,

and though we're yet to fear death

the fear of not being enough already haunts us.

Fear of not being sweet enough,

Soft enough,

Yielding enough.

Then comes the blood, the moons and the lunatic circles

trying to go a whole month without rage, or tears,

or tearful rage

The clock ticks louder, and louder

as you try to achieve that one thing that makes you feel alive

Some are lucky enough to desire what the clock demands so insistingly

some are not

so they walk faster, run, sprint against the wrinkles and colorless threads

And as you finally get used to the ticking clock and the sound fades

when the soul is in acceptance,

that's when you make peace with the certainty of death

And see time as a precious gift, a present to be unwrapped with enthusiasm