Is inside
your head
With its
needle in the red
Is only a
phantom.
It’s just a
crowding of
Thoughts
uninvited
Knocking
incessantly
At your
mind’s door.
That cosmic
tick tock you think
Is counting
you down
To
judgement hour each day
Is contrived
too.
Time is
indifferent
To moments
both meaningful
And trivial.
Its nature
is to flow
And all you
need to do
Is float
along…
and retraced steps seeking
a clear pool of the familiar
and the unchanged, for the tired soul
to drink strength from,
so it could carry on…
Lost bearing in the dimness and
lost footing blinded by cobwebs
and fell through to the past…
Looked around and saw
the familiar had declined
and time had corroded
the contours of things and people
into obscure contorted masses.
The reserve of strength hoped for
had run dry from years of munificence
and I didn’t have enough
of what it needed to resuscitate.
I sat a few moments in its embrace
and left lighter than I’d come
with a promise that soon
I‘d come back holding
the tiny hands of the future
