Time slows, and with each fading tick
I wonder at what might have been
The glinting-gold tapestry has been woven,
And freed men have breathed
While the ground slithers black and a sundried youth
Bathe in a fettered silver dream
An unsmoothed curtain of heaving, rolling red
Clouds my broken vision and wets my bed.
The heart of time and breath is in me,
The cold of summer sun and falling hell
Are coming undone
I've spent my life in quiet limbo,
In unfound promise and glittering regret,
Days have past, detached and loosened from myself,
From that on which my heart was set
In custardy and sun-filled youth
I dreamed of being great and true and wise,
Of an ideal that I have failed
Free me, find me, fetch me, feed me, fail me
A blood-red fruit has fallen from its tree.
Have I spent a single moment drinking in life's honeyed milk?
Has meaning filled me, or covered my tracks?
Or should I thank you for what was?
As I sit in Solemn's bed and inhale a stale, quiet dread.
I think of a life well lived, well fed
If I should stand on the threshold of eternal rest,
And be invited in,
I might hope that a life's time was used closely,
And that I do not stand alone and think
Without flaxen life's evanescent ink.