By Andrew R. Duckworth
Time moving forward, always forward,
The feeling of awe and wonder
Vanishing day by day,
Leaving dullness in its place
At spectacle and exciting discovery,
As years pile on and time marches forward.
It’s not from lack of excitement,
But lack of ability to feel excitement,
As if stripped away bit by bit,
Chipped away with a chisel
By some vandal,
Aching for their next opportunity,
To carve away,
Carve away at a dying shell.
I remember wonder,
I remember amazement,
Yet somewhere along the way,
It all vanished,
Going unnoticed at first.
Perhaps it was the realization
That not everything will be okay,
That people die,
That people lie.
Surprise becomes a rarity,
And usually not so pleasant.
Perhaps I now know what to expect
From a cold, uncaring, selfish world
That is out to get us all in the end,
And that leaves no surprises.