Twenty-eight

Enjoy the poem

Feelings of frustration
Filling the moments of many from long before

Before the stages pass, you long for less than more
Flipping pages, dreaming or remembering?
Which is it this time?
Which is ticking now or has it stopped?
The hands spin round, hitting the ground
Giving off vivid colors, blinding light

The face looks older though the fire never smolders
No inhibitions, only known transition lies beneath

Twenty-eight more, the days grow longer
Names are fonder than any other word
Twenty-eight less how absurd is this mess
Of unknown realities that make no sense

Forget sensibility, displace reality
Come near and sing, you see
Twenty-eight means nothing to me