Vortex
I
did not
expect this
washed grey, unawake,
emptied nothing, slanted
meandering thru ageless days
that melt slowly at the seams of
every tomorrow spent waiting for
something, the something that won’t come unless
sought, the something that won’t pay unless bought, it
is time, past time, to reach, move, crane, turn, journey, cross
to that something, to grasp it firmly by its tail, which is slippery
but can be had, to haul it into and be hauled into every wide awake
non-dreaming, undying moment of days that are only, only tomorrows
never yesterdays, it is a moment beyond the moment when you’ve
blinked unbelievingly, then missed the magic perfection that you
know happened just as you blinked, and no amount of
screaming or cursing will bring it back, and, oh,
if only you hadn’t blinked or opened
your eyes again, because you
did not expect this
washed grey,
unawake,
emptied
nothing
Copyright © Barb Black | Year Posted 2008
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