Drifting Poem by Frank Sheehan

Drifting through illusions
of life's simplicities
drinking elixirs
of times past

Youthful aspirations tempt
overall encompassing truth
of mortality.
Casting a shadow

on joys and temptations
of middle aged morass
while trying to keep face,
stem the flow

of the realities of age.
The clock never stops,
but keeps ticking
as you try to grasp

the fountain of youth
that doesn't exist.
But you hope,
keep on

through the dirge
of complications
of being a lover,
a parent,

living life.