46, 4/6

You turn the page,
And feel the rage,
The cave is yawning,
While the rain keeps gnawing.

A cavernous ocean inside,
Of imagined dishes untried,
Efforts that consciously dwindled,
Desires that sputtered, gloriously unkindled.

46, 46, 46, 46,
The beat relentless with slick licks,
The age that capriciously matches the date,
A warm, kind-natured laugh from a smiling Fate.

A synchrony that's lucidly random,
Stalking you like a ranging phantom,
The skies are turning strange orange at night,
The moon gives off far lesser light.

Time steadfast hunts meagre dreams down,
Rhymes flow easy for the mocking clown,
Yet you seek something tangible to hold,
Yet you seek something eternally true and bold.

Images flicker in black, upscreen,
Colours shimmer in the sodium trees,
Memories of movies watched with your dad,
Hitchcock framed the good along with the bad.

That's all, that's all, it's the final call,
Another day reduced to a foetal ball,
You spell words slowly with conscious choice,
Memories within typos, less signal, more noise.

Good night sweet age, you whisper at last,
Conscious this moment is hurtling past,
The hand of your mother, aged yet calm,
Across oceans, so far, yet so present and warm.

I remember, she says, a smile on her face,
I remember it all, every milestone in every place,
I remember you stood, so quiet and small,
I remember quite distinctly your very first fall.

Your eyes are closing, your intentions are spent,
Your words are garbled, the ancient wisdom is shent,
Today shall be just a page in a forgotten, mite-eaten book,
On a bottom shelf, dust-blessed, its treasures unshook.