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