The acidic tears stream down, burning valleys that will soon become canyons in the once smooth planes of my face.  Time and trial hasten their arrival.  The sorrow isn't caused by growing older, I welcome the lines made by laughter, the wicked little crows feet that play at the corners of my eyes from time to time.  Growing older brings more experience and if you're paying attention, that experience brings wisdom.  These are the signs of time's passage I look forward to most.  These are the things that once fueled my fire.

Now the fire is barely visible amidst the ashes.  No promise of an uprising, not enough to light the smallest corner of my mind, certainly no spark to set me free.  I feel utterly lost.