The Numbers of Age

I seem to have aged more than my number,
Like the rings on trees, this manifold
Goes ever towards but never turns face
Like a trailing meteor in the fatal space

And even if it does not land,
The fading beauty of its time
Will break its last single breath
Not with a dagger, instead with life
And colour the universe with its death

I, like some, like the greyhounds,
Race towards wishes, too fast
For the patient souls, but
never catch that rainbowed hare

And I, like the few, see the violet trees
Then lie a while on the lime green track,
Tired in our daydreams, on the in-between
Which seperates the normal and the reckless pack

Too fast for convention,
Too light for ambition,
Never going but always wanting
and whining for a god to fall

Or maybe I lie somewhere oblivious
In an even rarer torment,
But I do not know if I'll ever hear
Some footsteps behind me or up ahead,
A similar sleeper to sleep with me.