Years Poem by David Lacey

The years they slow become us
Numb unto our age
They rage and then succumb us
Each turning of the page.

The sky in green is melting
The grass felt fabric blue
As I am sure of falling
In and out of love with you.

No reason for a failure
No method to return
No lover, nor a saviour
No lesson left to learn.

The years they are about us
And fastening the belt
No room to move on land
No sky now left to melt.

The years they numb and slow our age
Each page in turning done
The sky a meadows green, a dream
A traveller’s journey done.

No reason for a lover
No method left to learn
No savour here to bother,
A failure to return