Here go I
Frogmarched into a fiftieth year.

Painfully aware
Of time
Slipping like sand
Through open fingers.
Painfully aware
That I am still alone,
Undone, 
Half done,
A thin, soft voice
In a loud cacophony.

Painfully aware
Of all that has
Passed me by,
While I slept
And crept
And wept
Through the years
Of my vitality.

Painfully aware
That hopes of love
And warmth
And deepest kisses
Are lost,
Muddied and torn:
The heavy costs 
Of compromise.

Painfully aware
That others of my ilk
Never came so far.

Painfully aware
Of the depths
Of my fragility.