Clocks

Every once in a while we play a little memory tape in the frail light of our minds.. There isn't much we know that hasn't already been. Never much we crave that we haven't already lost. Living is a real raw flesh and blood thing shimmering and pulsing in the corridors of Time. And Dying a blind brainless walk backwards into Life. Maybe I am a remembrance in some mind. Or a pale and flickering little trick of the light– there, but not quite. And never something to look for.

If only I could turn around before its too late to set things right.

Not old enough to be crazed by clocks. Yet.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s