The Last 39 Minutes

The touch of turning day and night builds the life bud layer by layer. The blossomed design of destined time opens the petals as the floral essence of existence gradually unfurls the transient beauty of living, until the flower withers at the stroke of winter’s slashing silence, and disappears drifting consumed in the abyss of the allotted time. At the far end of life’s rough garden path I now amble with the wilted flower for the last 39 minutes, steps tracing the last mile in the corridor of tarnished twilight with lasting sleep creeping in my eyes. I see the spectrum of the setting sun stain the sands of time almost still, turning into specks of eternity sinking within the sated soul. I float in the ethereal waves in the bay of infinite bliss, sailing to the yonder shore, waiting for me to be reached at the end of the last minute of my time, and let me be with me in perpetual dream.