The Inevitable Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

The hands of time
Are bent backward
They are welded…
Never to go forward.

The time keeper
wanted to stay here.
He wasn’t prepared;
Dying was his fear.

He tried his best
to stop the inevitable.
His foothold slipped,
efforts became unstable.

Life was released
With an open hand.
He took a tumble
With a thud he did land.

On his tombstone
It was stated…
I was not ready,
My death is prematurely dated.

7/24/07