Sands of Time

They say age is just a number—
But I'm beginning to feel encumbered.
In the absence of a sense of wonder,
I'm inching towards eternal slumber.
 
I grumble at the sound of thunder—
Will this oaken heart be torn asunder,
On the day the reaper pulls me under,
And biology reveals it's final blunder?
 
Will I plunder into the underworld,
When my fragile life becomes unfurled?
Or I, a ribbon in the sky,
In a place that's made of pearl?
 
As I grow older, the days grow colder,
A weighted world perched on my shoulder;
The raven's claws dig deeper still,
Stretching thin, the skin of its beholder.
 
Did I really do the best I could—
Always fighting in the name of good?
I ask the glowing embers,
Of this tender piece of wood.
 
Sometimes it's so hard to find—
Just a little piece of... nevermind.
I'm out of words and clever rhymes,
By the sands of time that forever bind.