Time's Swift Beat Poem by Christopher Withers

the darkness presses on my eyes,
a kaleidoscope of sparks, and clouds,
and half eventful reveries,
twisted by my fevered mind
finds hold upon my blinded sight.
the silence of the night constricts,
covers breath in silent veil,
and squeezes from my every pore,
a concentrate of fear of loss,
of fear of death, and fear of life
which stretches out towards a darkness,
absolute, swiftly encroaching,
ever bringing final breath and
on the date of its arrival:
slammed against an absolute
pinned and held in coldest grasp,
a final moment never bettered,
fallen out from time's swift beat.