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THE CLOCK

In the shadows of deepening twilight
remote in a familiar world;
each moment the tick of a clock,
each one added to all
that have gone before,
each, one less the total.

How many days have I
or should my time
be set in breaths.

What if I breath faster,
will slow breath slow time,
but no answer from the night.

The wind wafts in and out
through the open window
stirring the shadows;
each gust like the breath
of some dim giant,
his pulse the flow of time.

Time, ever moving, unyielding
to any hope or thought;
time’s path to infinity
shielded from the present
as though by an invisible wall,
holding back hope and thought.

Along this pathway from the past
there lays scattered, time worn debris;
all the dreams once cherished,
now no more than faded pictures;
names and faces lost to memory,
the significant now insignificant.


At one time I thought 
or did think I could stop 
universal madness with a scream,
but I couldn’t scream and expose myself;
time raged in open warfare,
unmolested in its bludgeoning way.

Yet unchecked life flows
in rapid acceleration 
further from the beginning
ever closer to the end,
each moment the tick of a clock
without sound yet still heard.

Immortal I the soul ponders
of universal wonders, 
while mortal I lay quietly
in the depth of shadows;
each tick, one added to all,
each, one less the total.

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