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.
Let me be.