Letting The Hours Go Poem by RIC BASTASA

the hours run so fast
and you are being left alone
in that room
where you still try to record
an accounting of
the past, as though you are into
a collection case
of those who are indebted to you

when you step out
from the door and close it
behind you
it is already dark and the
street lights
begin to make some islands
along the alleys

there is now a dichotomy between
the hours and your
own pacing

there is no one waiting
and you expect nothing to really love
that truly

let the hours go
they must have other persons in mind
who are still
in sorrow