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05/02/11 - (1)
Ghost-Time
Our days and nights pass so rapidly out of life-sight That it almost seems as though they, like we, Are attached, by imperious gravity's force field, to mortality
And that no matter what we try to do to impede their speed, They defy our every clever assessment, Refuse to let us get the upper hour-hand on their revolutions.
We congregate, with the frequency of heartbeats, To bemoan our futility at overthrowing time's flagrant tyranny, Lament our failure to mutiny against its godless despotism.
And yet, when we begin to nail down the brass tacks Rimming the lid of its casket-shaped clock face, Time swishes from our grip, like a fish, into vast nonexistence,
Leaving behind that insidious sickness-unto-dread malaise Crushing, to dust, the pluck in the pit of our gutlessness, Forcing us to retreat into craven submissiveness,
Accept the messenger time sends, to mislead us home, As the ghost that recognizes each of us as its own, And surrender to our seconds' transformation into death's hours.
05/02/11 - (1)
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