Time: The Unimpeachable Stalker Poem by Bryan Taplits

As one ages you'll find never is there an out
It's possible to win the round-but no one wins the bout.
No matter how you wave your arms or shout aloud, abrupt
The age of you is coming due, your expiration date is nearer-
and LESS is coming up.
The trembling you are feeling-is not addiction, but just fear
You see your destiny in telescoped relief, as your new future seems unclear
Ebbing and retreating, the ocean-life casts its net of doubt
And then one day-it plays this way:
The grand fate you planned, pursued-
is quietly fading out.
So what's a person to do? He could be good or bad
It really doesn't matter-and that is what's so sad.
One day you are above the ground, the next day 'heaven sent'
It matters not just who you are: A star or shamelessly bent.
The structure of this matter has no reason and has no rhyme
It hamstrings you, while punching too-
you hear then that last trumpet blast:
'My boy! You're out of time.'