All in Good Time | poetry

The face of my watch mocks me.

I try to run – a dream of heaviness and impossible slopes

– yet Its hands chase me still

as I reach for things that are stable and unfailing,

for the savior who is not there.

I search through the darkness, finding nothing

but doors long locked.

No vacancy exists in the past.

Its hands wind faster until time is but a blur.

The face of disbelief staring back from the mirror

has ceased to be mine,

growing older each moment.

The frail voice from my mouth, disembodied, trembling

as I tell It to stop.

I beg for mercy but, alas, there is none to spare.

Innocence has found an eternal enemy –

the immortal bringer of death.

It will not cease.

It will not let me be.

Will not.

Let me be.