Faded Lines

My fate etched deep in these palms
I find no longer seems to worry me.
It will happen as it must.
No hurry, haste, or careful wait
will change a probable outcome.
I let them worry and wonder
at why my silence is no longer
sedition red and violent;
a daily syncopation of the heart.
Age wears its subtle smoothness
across my mind, unfolds its crags
of worry into Everest proportions.
I will keep this peace.
Nothing, not even your prying
will change that.
I want nothing of yours so do not
seek to destroy this Tibetan retreat.
Fate cannot be circumvented, you
may only stuggle in your bonds;
useless, growing older.