The rhythm of my heart is no rival

For the movement of your wandering eye.

Her lithe figure signals her arrival

My cadence lulls, watching, undignified

For my love is not enough to match youth

And his heart is so fickle in its ways.

With age, one becomes unwanted, in truth,

The realization embed me in a daze.

Yet, youth, for its beauty does not have wisdom.

Time passes and people grow older, it’s

Not a crime of nature, but a schism  

Of naivete and cynicism outfits.

We are not victims of time, just merely

Bystanders in the face of austerity.