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Thursday, 17 January 2019

Time (poem)


Been struggling to sleep over the past week; insomnia has always been an on-and-off problem with me. I was awake all night and wrote this around seven in the morning.

Time continues to fade into itself
Once my friend; now my mocker
She scorns me, laughs at tomfoolery
Questioning; ‘why lie awake and ponder?
Preen at the screen in loathsome hunger and thirst
Aching for a chance to dissolve?’

These pillows weep for me
Meanwhile I feel his hands soft around me
His face smiling perfect in my dreams
Bye-bye-birdie, she said, until we meet again
When this war is over
(what if it never ends?)

Can a person be replaced?
Replacing Barbara with Barbie
And Grace Jones with Gaga
One after the other; are these mere transferences
One set of limbs, longing and laughter to the next?

Hell is a ticking clock
Passing with each hour
Still she lies, her presence enveloped in white
Wails heard by no one
Until dawn breaks the slumber and she’s forced to rise.

Awaken, sweet child,
For the terrors the night may bring
Will not surpass the day.
At night, you lie still in these sheets of pink warmth
With or without REM’s descent
By day, scorn and envy and fear and frustration
Rampant from London to Las Vegas
Why?

Does time matter or is it the consumption within?
Spend your days weeping endlessly
At night only to prevail and win?
Surely short bursts of passion
Hold nothing against years of love?
Or is desire all that matters
When asked by the clouds above?

Love and desire; she lay, a nymphet
And showed the boys the way out
Out of the black and back to blue
Until memories began to dissipate
And they were children again for a brief
Amount of time.

What is a child to an adult?
An adolescent to an old-timer?
Is fifteen months on the wagon worth fifteen years?
Or is it as they say; just for today?
Can a girl of twenty-one know literature
But not the sweet honey of his love?

How goes it, they may say
That a man once stared into the face of the wheel
That spun the hands of time, praying for it to work in his favour
And slowly, his descent into madness began
Until he had been swallowed and consumed
By this burning river of quantum light
Sucking all he knew away.

‘MARTY! WE’RE OUT OF TIME!’
Don’t we all wish to turn back time?
Goodbye, friends, hello again
When young lovers weep at the fall of the end
Only to return and bring back what once was theirs
But this time, it is fouler and desperate
She may have her youth but no sanity
So is it worth it, spinning the clock?

Time
Does her flower wilt or rejoice?
Sparkle golden silk or black dust?
Will we ever truly know?
How to spin this wheel of time
That waits for no human hand
Certainly no human heart
For the past is obdurate
Said the King to the curly queen
And it wishes not to be changed.
Not for you, for me, or for any in our range.

17th January 2019 

My poetry collection is FREE to download from a range of digital stores: https://books2read.com/artisawasteoftime

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If you enjoy my posts check out my novel Every Last Psycho. Available to purchase on Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07F44CMNJ