Effusion Poem by Smoky Hoss

Age: the expenditure of the body, turning old, and tired, as it slowly dispenses with vitality.
- Summer has passed,
Autumn is nearly done,
the world moves toward Winter.
Words don't come easy now.
The cold is barely held at bay.
I creak, I crack, yet still
walk on.
I read,
and wish to write.
I think,
and long to speak.
I'm a song without words,
music lacking a melody,
a voice losing sound.
Thank God
I still have my eternal rhythm,
that prodigiously moving spirit
that is Existence.
Slowly the body lowers,
just as slowly, the spirit rises
higher and higher.
From this paradoxically, combined view,
both lower and higher,
I recognize eternity more than ever, and yet,
find a scarcity of words to convey
the view from my heart.
As deeper inward I go
the ability to express the Mystery
becomes less and less…