Sedating a middle-aged future

Run out of thoughts to ink when I,          
Playlists brimming with bittersweet tunes,             
A sound of joy from a once missed mate           
Finds four chambers cynics pounce and pry.  
Scrapping the aloofness off single afternoons           
Reliving shenanigans of past to satiate           
Bygone hopes, dodging rules to abide by,             
Hunting our failures with polished harpoons.           
Making conversation, current growth rate,           
World economies decaying, indicate and imply           
A hungry vortex impatient to gulp us loons           
That bumps into a voice helping uncertainty sedate           
Its misgivings behind closed  doors, they rely           
Since aeons ago on foetal twins inhabiting crescent moons.          
A spirit without cues resting on dismal harvest           
Hardens up for a predictable good-bye.