A line can be drawn,
Of best fit, closest conformity,
Tracing both forwards and back
To when you were younger,
Your smile more bright, your
Eyes open wide to a
World all your own.
To see your features weep and sigh
Beneath the weight of passing time
Is naught but devastation.
I invest ungodly hours in
Charting your decline; I
Both wallow in despair and
Cling to hopes of latter-day grandeur.
I dare not look beneath the surface,
Or cast mine eye to past events,
Lest I see further evidence of
Decay and regress.
I fear I could not survive it.
I fear you would be lost,
To me, to this world which
You once so vividly called your own.