Fingers open and close, hands clench and unclench,
unnumbered muscles and bones connected together
in a mute harmony.
Years will pass in a storm of memory,
perfection battered by the weight of living:
hands will clench only with strain,
bones aching with effort. Veins stand out
Like blue tributaries of some great river
but the sea of youth is long dry.

The delusions of immortality shatter
with the first true hurt, the first broken bones;
the illusion of youth crumbles
only when perfection begins to fail.

Fingers spasm ineffectually, hands fall to the side,
limp against the pains still to come.
The once vaunted power
of the body is gone, broken. The mind
left forgotten so long is the only strength
left to use against the ceaseless pains.
Even it will fail, perfect in its imperfections,
our last illusion fading away.

- Josh MacLeod, 2001.