Games Of Procrastinating The Delaying Process Of Age Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

When that time comes,
And all that has been done...
With a leaving of those holding on,
As if each day faced...
Is not to be lived to their expectations.
Before it is chased away.
There is nothing anyone to them can say,
To be heard to prioritize.

Some just do not get it,
And for them it is difficult to perceive...
Nothing about this existence,
Is here for them to exist permanently.

There are those who sit alone,
In their shadows wishing for those moments...
To relive a past that has slipped from their grasp.
And goes too fast for them to realize it.

And there are those who believe,
They can do as they please.
Only to awaken one day to discover,
Mother Nature is not here to play with them...
Games of procrastinating the delaying process of age.

No leaf hangs onto a tree,
With decisions to make when it is time for it to leave.
And if anyone believes they live to make these decisions...
Will find those things they could have done,
Much too late to do.
Since nothing God creates awaits to be manipulated.

'IF I only had more time to find.'

For the doing of 'what'?
Getting up off your butt?