time
Time is a lucid thing.
Shadows that dance;
slowly
Cuffs you at the wrists
Chains you at the hip
Drags you down, down, down
Until it don't matter no more.
Yet we pass it down from
sun to son, as it keeps
ticking and ticking without
really talking or speaking.
It bended for Dali
It will bend for Space
But will it crack like glass
when we shatter the last
alarming reminder of life,
like Hook?
I admit, it does confound me
to seek to control a God that
I have created to control me.
When I no longer need it;
If it shall ever wish so,
I will sink deeper into the
galloping hills of madness.
13