James Gale

My body feels weak,
Perhaps I’m no longer young,
Closing in on three decades now,
Yet supposedly, life has only begun.

Every day, I feel a small ache,
Nothing too heavy, yet it gets in my way,
Like a relentless companion,
A new ailment greets every day.

I’m reminded of things like age,
And how we are eventually forgotten
As no memory leaves a permanent trace,
These thoughts weigh heavy,
For those whose dreams seem to fade.

As if I can feel time running out,
And I must make haste,
Trying to revert the feeling
Of being a waste of space.

I long for a story yet untold,
Where my worries and aches are cast away,
Lost in the shadow of brighter days.