These Are My JOTtings, Part #2

Quickening the Pace

With much to say and much to do,
confusion blows its fog on a brain.
When is the rushing finally through,
that just a touch of rest we gain?

The years of life make years so small,
that walking feels like running fast.
The few are left on which we call
as rocket fuel fills ev'ry task.

An infant's days are really slow,
since ev'ry day near lifetime makes,
but ev'ry year the more we go
the days and years less time they take.

From Santa Claus to Santa Claus
so much of life is in between
for toddlers, who love toys because
all Christmas days, new wonders seen.

But older years are spinning wheels.
No seasons stop. They rush on by.
The colors of the spring fast yield
to humid green, then fall hues die.

Each winter seems to slow the pace,
but not for long. It's hot, again.
The body feels not much of grace
as hot and cold and hot they blend.

The hoary hairs grasp oft for sleep,
'til sleep takes o'er the growing night.
Eternal pace no more will keep
the speed of Earth, our modern blight.

by Jay O’Toole
on May 6th, 2024