Brief and Clear the Moment
A single moment, all too brief,
clear as the razor’s edge.
It came to me just as a dream would,
it may have been just as important
or just as meaningless.
In the moment, grave and profound,
I was sure that I must have its mastery
and nearly as sure that I did.
Fatigue was morbid as waking wisdom,
lucidity sure as fiendish cold.
Terror was bright as cloudless noon,
sorrow blind as midnight’s prayer.
It left me just as a dream might,
it may have been less important
and even more meaningless.
In a new moment, desperate and dire,
I clutched at the vanished mastery
and finally conceded that it was gone.
A single moment, all too clear,
brief as the hangman’s glance.
16th November 2018
Copyright © Lawrence Sharp | Year Posted 2018
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