Aging

Fresh bodies-
Just born,
We fall helpless and wailing
from the narrators loins
onto a blank, bright page.
Reluctant;
we are the literary children of this generation-
wrestling with the pen.
Surrounded by the vastness of
our kind, and
Grappling
with the fear and endless years ahead.

Inkily, we begin to write-
Colour our lives with the richness of our words:
Our Story.
The years crease by,
yellow ages past
hands poised to turn
a new chappter's pages.
We stretch our crinkled faces and s  m  i  l  e
a crooked smile.
Triumphant:
Because we have conquered-
Because we have broken the chains
Binding the book, and our worn out cages.
But deep
down
we are all fearing
that dreaded
Moment
when the pen runs out-
And we
Stop.