Time Needs a New Working Title

When I was 5 years old, each year was 20% of my life.
At 25, each year was 4% of my life.
Now at 55, each year merely 1.8%.
The math won't allow for it to go negative.


Time Needs a New Working Title

Those days when we were all so small,
Then hours passed as days do now,
  those days as weeks, young weeks were months,
And a year? We had then only known so few,
  each felt much longer to live through

Older now, my dog chin’s streaked with grey,
  more quickly turns each passing day,
Thieving tempis fugit spins sundialing flowers
  from seed to bloom to brown, one hour,

Fore-mapping fate, the charts foretell
  we’ll come caught up,
Compounded storm bound in 
  old anti-logarithmic time’s vertical peak, so,
Let’s skip the drunken poet’s fight,
  let’s make no rages 'gainst the night,
I'll rather greet the eternal moment, to meet infinity,
  perhaps and too, divinity