In seperate worlds, they breathe now;
so sad, these worlds, like coffins,
each silent to the other,
yet life be ever present,
just enough to offer Chance, Time...Hope-
for two lives beating, drumming, yet-
far away from the other;
for neither will feel
the others pulse, today,
as Death summons Time
to fold its hands
from another day of madness;
and so it does...as Death rules Time.
Hours toll with brassy chime
its echoes carry moments fading,
and, my God, how the minutes run silent,
ne're looking back from its covert jaunt
to the nascent hour approaching
with the speed of a farm-house windmill,
all hands of the clock, all three
encircling with an air of arrogance...
en perpetuum,
But, thats alright for if this weren't so
perhaps Tomorrow would never come.
And it's the Tomorrow's that offer hope and chance
for what ever reasons...Yesterday, would not render.
Destiny, prerequisite...a Plan that was laid
before Time and space, planets and sundials?
Suddenly, Time seems far less significant,
to me, I guess, considering its fate,
like floods or lightening, all microcosms-
of what time will not alter here,
as that was never The Plan,
for if it were, we'd be immortally damned
and what a paradox that would be.
*Revised 07-17-16
Reposted 07-26-16
FjR-MMXV
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem