Let time abide its own ragged path,
one moment slow, the next so fast, unnoticed,
and are we at its very whim,
like pawns upon a board,
on moment in attack, the next brings
us undone, removed from life.
How do we attest this cruel plight,
this master over life,
and can we revel in time’s slow parade,
then in misery speed up the day,
and retire none the worse,
or is that just a dream.
Perhaps it is our thoughts
that temper time or in last resort speed up,
our very perception that wavers between
expectation and our wildest dreams,
or am I wanting control
that I shall never have.
My reflection tell something else,
time, like a dissipation of mist,
leaves its scars, it lines of weathering,
and I often don’t recognize myself,
time in hast has robbed my memories,
and I cant recollect the decline,
only now I see it.
I pray not to blink and miss the rest,
the slope of decline steeper as I breathe,
and may moments linger long in substance,
dissipate in shallow worth,
as I, like waves upon the shore,
ignore the days but bow to tides,
until time has swallowed me whole.
Until then, I wear a watch,
a ticking that imbues my concerns
but at a loss I stare pensively,
watching the sand fall away,
the resounding clicking of wheels
determining my fate,
as the master waits.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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