Charlotte and Patricia
1957/1958 – 2010
The Passing of Time…
What can one say about growing old? The loss of shape, hiding beneath many layers of clothing, sparkle gone from one’s eyes. One is no longer beautiful in the eyes of others. The function of one’s body grows weaker, sitting in that doomed place with little human contact. The sunset-glow in the beginning of each day is gone. Dreams escape the demented mind, as does the ordinariness of each day.
There is certain knowledge within the fog of the mind of the aged; those long ago youthful days may flitter across the closed window. Nonetheless, the prison door never opens the walled-in prison unknown to most. It is the last stage of life, frozen within and quite, a phantom of themselves, a hollow ghost. Whom can we blame?
No longer, a figure of delight, no longer surrounded by the sweet smell of one’s self. Like the snow-covered winter landscape, life is stilled, a shadow of one’s self. Life from the womb begins a painful story, a stormy world like summer winds and rain. Beauty spent and done, despite Hells rage now silenced by the passing of time. With the eyes looking, pass what lies ahead, bondage no longer a threat as the mind realizes it will only end in death.