Fevered Mind

A poem by Sydney Stone. I do not own the image.

***

My mind is frantic,

Only more frantic with age,

My soul is fragile,

A piece lost every day,

How do we cling to a life?

So determined to pass away.

How do we keep a good marching order?

When the last horn’s blare has faded to gray,

Just grab a stick and pick a trail,

There is no right course or way,

Travel steady, 

Do not tarry,

Lest you miss the sun’s last rays.