Panic - a drabble

I start to panic. I don’t know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone ten years from now. I don’t know who or what I am. Am I a good person, or even a nice one? How many opportunities do I miss every day? My pulse quickens and my breaths come shallow and fast as I become overwhelmed by the vastness and insignificance of my life in the huge, unfeeling universe.

What if my best days are behind me? What if I haven’t made a difference?

Then he puts his hand on mine and smiles at me, and I’ll be alright.

Don't fear the creeper

I refuse to fear the hand of time
Drawing my tits down and greying my hair.
I refuse to be horrified when wrinkles appear.

I will not have cosmetic surgery, no, I will not!
But will accept it with a graceful air
When men in their twenties no longer stare.

As my bones groan and my joints creak
And my eyes and my ears pack it in,
I will be happy, as others have been.

So do not tell me that age is a monster,
Devouring my glories one by worthless one;
The golden glow of evening precedes the setting sun.

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