Colder, Number, Slower... The Curse of Time

A dream to age but not to fade is the goal for our race,
A vision, a single goal that none have yet made.
For when first wrinkle on the brow, descend onto our features,
Blasts of harsh reality bite back to another cause,
Lost among the shores of life from which none have returned.

The warmth of the earth surrounds us when connected,
Fading away as we lose the perception in preference to others.
The feeling of completeness that makes all things right,
Disappears on the awakening of our cynical minds,
To be gone, to vanish and never return.

Yet before that time passes, a scene of fear and amnesia,
Is acted out among a stage of new actors.
Un-familiar roles and un-known faces blur as the Act moves on,
Too fast, too strong, too loud, too blunt,
Ill-devised words ring in the coils of the mind.

If wisdom is wanted, experience needed and cunning coveted,
Why should we, in the time of our peak in those talent,
Have them snatched away with our last breath?