As in a silence with no truth to bare,
time beats without purpose, echoes,
and lost those sequential tolls,
swallowed by a indifferent universe.
What entreats life to not reply,
to yawn a lie or simply fall asleep,
when silence bares no intent at all,
and passed time heaps at you inactive feet.
Cobwebs found in stillness,
attest the stagnant will of doubt,
as time rings out its ever beating knell,
and days just come and go like seasons.
And sleep cannot abide this grazing,
this endless tracing of night sky tears,
and oblivion offers no reprieve,
from the chosen rest of alternate breath.
Time out called, a stilled heart and mind,
relenting life of any kind,
to dissipate the time that haunts all dreams,
for moments missed on Everest,
now tainted falls and moves remiss of acceptance.
Tony DeLorger © 2016