There are occasions, junctures,

      stages, phases, bad patches,

      periods, when my mortal coil

       has reached its final spring.


       Era’s, ages, epochs, aeons,

       days of eternal years when

       allotted spans of existence

       speak an accent of extinct.


   Rhythms, tempo, beating pulses

      out of synch, atmospherical

      ambience looses cadence.

          Chronic Chronophobia.