Age

A truth born in obscurity, like a child.
Its soft face, clear skin. Tiny, new.
Age’s importance pushed back into the shadows;
Too much else that matters at birth,
like an hourglass disregarded when first set.
Eternity is left, it seems.

It lives as a formidable thought,
Becoming significant now, but
at the same time befalling hatred.
The morbid knowledge that every story has its end.
A despised freefall of years, hours, and moments.
Passing swiftly as rotting acorns drop from trees;
Detached, falling, disappearing into the grass,
soon buried under the earth.
We beg for time to hurry for foolish wishes—
Heeded wishes.

No longer an idea but a view
Beauty fading to reveal the unsightly prospect of age’s seniority
Age with its iced hands so quickly slipping away, faster than before
No one successfully holding onto its cold, grip-less, unbiased hands;
They push all, yes, even the rich from thrones to coffins.
Tears are shed, fears emerge
Anger bears its fruitless burden
And at last, age, unlike its birth, dies,
in absolute certainty.

This is a clever piece. You've struck a nerve that everyone thinks of at some point: Death. We can push it away, but it's always there, waiting. You've captured the emotions inherent in death, the ones we all feel, especially when involving someone else's death. These emotions are un-avoidable, and I feel that in this poem. Every stanza is sewn with truth, nothing else. Death does have an un-biased hand, pulling everyone down. There is nothing I can say that wouldn't diminish the quality of your work, so I can only say that you have created a work that will stand out on its own.

The only negative thing I could say is this: When you have such a dramatic piece, one that involves something as huge as death, try to go for a more fitting title. Not that age has nothing to do with this, but just saying 'age' seem to be too direct. Try a title that is symilar to the poem itself, meaning the way it's written. Your stye should be visible in the title itself. (To me, it should. Feel free to ignore this; it was the only thing that stood out at an odd angle, after all.)

I agree completely with Mr.Knightley. It is stunning. It has a chilling beauty, you have clearly thought about your topic. And I'm sure we can all relate to it well. We've all experienced death at some point. Your almost brutal sincerity is wonderful, I truly think this piece is magnificent.

I will say that I don't think you need capitalisations at the start of every new line. It makes it a little hard to tell when one thought ends, when one sentence ends, and makes it a little broken when reading.

No longer an idea but a view
Beauty fading to reveal the unsightly prospect of age’s seniority
Age with its iced hands so quickly slipping away, faster than before
No one successfully holding onto its cold, grip-less, unbiased hands;
They push all, yes, even the rich from thrones to coffins.

Think about it as a normal sentence. You would never punctuate like this, would you?

My favourite line? Probably this:

We beg for time to hurry for foolish wishes—
Heeded wishes.

Anyways, I've spent enough time drooling over this poem with nothing else to add! Thank you so much for posting, if you put up more, please let me know, this was such a pleasure!

~ Roon

Thank you both for your reviews. I appreciate your compliments and am glad that the poem could affect you in a powerful way. Mr. Knightley I will consider your title suggestions and sentencing structure suggestion from you, Roon. Thank you again and I hope that you enjoy the rest of my works as well Roon as well I shall return the favor.