Days Are Going Nowhere Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Days are going nowhere,
Immortal at last;
Stillness is here and there,
Memories of past.
Years like unknown streets,
All going to by and by;
Remembered bittersweets,
Only a faraway cry.

The simmering fragile wind,
Crumpling nothingness;
Blandly from future rescind,
The fruits and flowerless.
Receptive to breath and sleep,
All is in steep descend;
The shining things into the deep,
Till its very own end.

Days that mask in dark faces,
Flowers with mouth of new;
Shadows passing moods abases,
And hiding realities construe.
Days are going nowhere,
Immortal at last;
Is there anybody aware,
The hour has glassed.