The Days

The days are slowly, or are they quickly, escaping us.
Yet another one arrives upon yesterday's dust.
Like our naive belief another day will forever be.
Never a doubt a tomorrow existed for me.
One day it won't.
Arrive.
And our troubles continue to agonize
behind  a smile draped with truth dipped lies.
And through the air a yelping cry
and a piercing whistle.
Caught between the breeze's orgasmic tremble.
The day resembles a dire nostalgic peak.
Nature's pertinent peaceful chatter speaks.
Bestowing an urgent message.
Abandon expectation's eye.
Live before you die.
For the days are escaping you and I.