Time played like a card-game in empty rooms
while your youth passed too rapidly,
consumed in a game of cards,
a mediocre book,
ignorant television;
you wasted time on fruitless pursuits.
Each second, minute, hour - gone forever,
never to be reclaimed,
while you withered and aged alone.
Count the white hairs now, one, two, three;
mark the delicate tracery of lines on the skin--
soon age will be irreperable,
while the television promises potions
advertised on the young--
amber to keep you youthful.
Like a condemned Rapunzel without a prince
watching in a mirror the golden hair turn grey.
You lost the hope of redemption, of love--
lost in a quest to kill time.
The old have no rescuers
and you are ageing.
Sybil Unrest Community Member 
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