There is a strange shame to find yourself
Drowning in the shallow end where
There is not even enough room
To tread water.

There is a power in the mundane which
Dulls the mind and spirit until
The faint smell of lost times and loves
Will fade almost beyond recall.

Still there is a thrill in the soul when
A loved idea remembered will quickly
Flash across the aching brain
Like an old, familiar friend.

And there is a sharp, black moment when
The bony finger of ignored mortality
Reaches out and taps you on the mind.
Not as threat of course, just the reminder
Of inevitable oblivion, like the slave
Reminding Caesar that he too would die.