Dilation

Dilation has entirely dominated

the passage of time,

stretching and distorting

the once familiar landscape of life.

The past, once so clear and defined,

has come apart at the seams,

its events now vague and hazy,

fading into a distant memory.

The future, once a seedling of possibility,

now feels like a barren, seedless pod,

devoid of the promise it once held.

And in the present, there is only pain,

a relentless ache that knows no bounds,

a reminder of the passage of time

and the toll it takes on the body and soul.

Even pain itself has lost its precision,

no longer striking with the ruthless clarity

that it did in youth,

now a dull and constant companion.

Years pass like moths,

fluttering and eroding internal organs,

hanging and falling like tattered wings

in a spoiled and forgotten closet.

And in the mirror, a bedeviling image stares back,

a reflection of the impossible transformation

that time has wrought,

the once agile and slim self

now a bloated and unrecognizable stranger,

a bulbous specter haunting the present.

Is this the inevitable course of aging,

or is it simply the absurdity of senility,

the impossible made possible

by the relentless march of time?

How did the narrow silhouette of youth

come to contain this massive incognito,

this unrecognizable form,

only to be exorcised by the finality of death?

Dilation has entirely dominated

the reality of a long life,

stretching it thin and distorting it

until it is almost unrecognizable.

But even in the midst of this dilation,

there is a resilience that remains,

a steadfast spirit that refuses to be completely swallowed

by the unforgiving march of time.

And in that resilience, there is a beauty,

a reminder that even in the face of dilation,

there is still the power to endure,

to persist, and to find meaning

in the ever-changing landscape of life. (Dilation") by Courtney Weaver Jr.