Wooden Wheels

Years are worn

The breath of time is spinning faster

Yet weaker in stature

Reeling on my fear is sewn
But not with threads of a new moral

Staggering spokes of decline
To bring to halt or continue to fault?!

An open chest (is) plundered
In mind we numb and begin revolving

Spinning straw into old, to stow way and fester mold
Adding layers, stripping years
My ride will end in tears

There is no time to feel patient
No patience to feel time