Less Than

[beyond_the_gray]

Remember the promises I made.
Eden seems so far from here,
Memories of visits long since paid,
Everything that age expects to fear.

Motion is irony in its course,
Beating steady as the ocean's groan.
Each day the ebb, each night the force
Recoiling metronomic throne.

Think of what change is said to be,
Here, counting nights til sleep arrives.
Each day, the same, remarkably
Similar in its short reprise.

Pay no attention to this tale.
Already, I have fallen back,
Reminding myself not to fail,
Killing this voice for all I lack.