April Snow, and Low Biorhythms

I feel the chill wind
of irrelevance
drafting under the door
of my reality.

Trapped in the slipstream
from the cannonball of time,
I am swept along,
battered by objects
that I cannot avoid.

A frail transparency
envelopes me,
and the strength of my youth
is but a memory
that smells of past summers.

My focus fades,
as dark clouds block the sun,
and I am unable to recover
a smile that has been missing
far too long.

Tomorrow will be different
I say, wondering as I speak,
if I can escape the vortex
of today, to bask in the light
of a sun just faintly remembered.

Looking in a mirror
I see an old man
who is almost translucent,
and not quite here.