Beginning of the End

“I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 
dirty-irish
Translucent skin showing the paths of life that will cease to flow
Blue and gray replace the young countenance and own the deterioration
Halting the movements of grace, becoming a lame gait of an ambling fall
This is the prognostication of our demise and the fate’s without escape
What’s left when the seasons change and we’re left without shelter?
The things leave and nothing’s left but an empty mind
Where are the riches spent entertaining the needs of vanities clients
The evaporation leaving only the crumbling idols built by youth