Can You Still Hear Me Amid The Chaos?

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Maturity much too quickly descends into brutality,
As time, that eternal contender,
Finally lays claim to its natural advantage.
All pretense, at last, being dropped,
I come too late to appreciate the mismatch.
To understand that the ceaseless ravages,
Won’t – with any certainty – be reversed.
Still, yet one more step in front of another,
Even if each one proceeding is slower,
More deliberate, than the one before.
And, as the physical seeps away,
Ever more steadily,
And the mind follows in lockstep,
Right behind,
I begrudgingly test whether my voice
Has yet been silenced,
And my hands have yet been stilled

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