My life is getting shorter

My life is getting shorter
by the hour and by the day.
After all these years of talking
I’ve run out of things to say.

Opinions are more muted now,
I often say ‘I just don’t know’.
But of one thing I’m certain
– the truth’s rarely on show.

It’s hidden in ambition,
clever answers spat with speed.
Or, in aggressive stances,
that conceal an aching need.

But that’s no more my business,
hide your light if so you must.
For I’m out of helpful axioms,
they have finally turned to rust.

Thanks goodness you might mutter,
no false hope to get you by.
But I tell you that when hope fades,
it sure does make you want to cry.

But are these tears of regret?
No, I don’t think they’re so.
They’re tears of deep acceptance.
Confirmation I’ve let go.

The future now lies empty,
an allotment under snow.
Noone will be more keen than me
to see what therein grows.