Shifting Relentless Time

(FICTION, PLEASE. It is easy for me to write in the first person, but nearly all my poems are fiction. Please don't attribute this poem to me. I loved my wife to distraction. For ten years she was sick and I cared for her like a baby. My only regret is that the ambulance which took her away would not allow me to be driven with her. I knew she would die and she would have wanted me near her despite her dementia. We were lovers. I don't know where I got this old poem of mine, but it is still fiction.) Shifting relentless time, sand in hourglass trickles slowly towards its final hour. Pretending I care not, I bask in the sun, enjoy mellow breezes, I wait; the end will come. The sky is clear, my mind is not, in truth I am distraught, echoes of a distant past ripple through my futile thoughts reminding me of your last visit. Now you stir in your desolate grave. My listless life is at a crossroads. I hover in a vicious vacuum, remember all the senseless shame, slide after seamy slide recalled, all your wants and needs which I demonically and cruelly denied despite the reparable ways, you made my fantasies would not come true. Now it is too late. Frustrations tear my sinful soul, I lie bound in a wicked web, I'll drink my teacup of remorse tomorrow is another curious chance: I pray for spiritual rebirth.