white hairs

my beard once
more ginger than
the tousled brown
that once adorned
my salacious skull
has lost the
embers that once
colored my chin
in coppery curls
as the wintery
growth has more
snowy patches
fitting camouflage
for hiding in the
oncoming cold
the mirror shows
an older face
my mind cannot
quite correlate
with the thoughts
pushing me forward
growing old and
feeling old seem
to be at odds as
i spend my allotted
time of enforced
inspection trying
desperately to
avoid introspection
because reality
is a chew toy in
the rabid maw of
god’s surly dementia
and i feel the
winter of my soul
smothering the
autumnal discontent
a lone fool growing
older as the world
keeps wobbling around
and i wonder how
long until it is a
stranger staring back
at an empty vessel
with a patchwork
beard of fading flame
and hazy hazel idiocy

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