time’s bountiful illusion
fills the silent ache between us
with its slow-hand promises, its lies
tho– when pale and aged, awaiting
the day on which the dark hounds arrive
hungered, and insistent
we shall, each, be well aware
of whom– we’ve, each, left behind
Beautiful. Yes, we all have to leave, and leave behind. Jx
Thank you, Jodine 🙂 I appreciate your kindness