As in, ‘on the subject of time’, rather than ‘I got this in before the deadline for my next blog post by the skin of my teeth-on time’.
Unlike my other recent poems this one doesn’t rhyme until the last two lines; and though I honestly prefer rhyming poetry, I feel this one expresses my half-asser self better.
Yeah… so. It’s a poem. Enjoy.
(And for those of you who prefer your poetry legible…)
Endlessly slumbering Time. Your dreams accelerate;
Day by day I struggle to find a moment to complain about it,
Amidst my own dreams;
Let alone to make the attempt to realise them.
Years pass; whole forests of imagination are swallowed,
To the very last leaf, by Your sands.
One tells oneself the silver sparkling dunes are prettier anyway,
But by the time only the ashen shells of the sturdier trees remain–
What else can you say?
Well. Things live in the desert too; buried in dark hollows.
Some can brave the moonlit wasteland to dig them up;
Others try to outrun the onslaught–for as long as possible.
Me, I shed my leaves at work: one eye on the clock;
Each letter writ in the blood I squeezed from a steel block.