The End of Time
The End of Time
The passing time in a stillness of passage
Blown soft with wanting
Furlongs in the corridors of sighs
Are dreams of mine
Left unsleeping
Repeating the hail of trumpeted cries
Another time
Touched by the paraded flowers
Of promises
To pick the blooms
My hands seem destined
And tender the bouquet of my wishes
For my lover
To choose
My life in time
Was sure to reach this conclusion
Its stark years
To roll out searching
Uncompromised
The rhetoric of my defenses
Breached in my heart
So easily
Once unknown
This naked
Time
Gathers me full
To the orchestral passions
Of its thumping timpani
Flaunted in my ears
With violin string dexterity
Brings forth a timely tempo 1812th crescendo all its own
Crashing, spraying, spume
Of literary hurricanes
Practiced demonstratively
With unspoken lips
And un-tasted words
Lay floundering in the assemblages
Drip unexpressed
On pitiful poetry
These Bedouins in my soul
Left me to map a desert
Beyond describing
This time I could have
Imagined more
But the traces of ancient floods
Flashed rumble in their predicted courses
And overcame my statutory right
To resist
Battered at me with Peony lids
And sort finally to leave me here
Floating
Feathered drifting
In a smile
The last time this is
And occasion risen fated
Has me trapped
That fortunes bubble wrapped
Would dare to pry from me
The ultimatum of hope
And if I myself, should dare to believe
In the end of the time
Without love
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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