It falls like snowflakes from the past and covers
old forgotten ground in alabaster
undulations. Deathless star-crossed lovers,
ancient epigraphs in crumbling plaster,
shrines with aurochs skulls: time conceals them
under layers of white forgetting. Glaciers
borne on mountains grind them down and deal them
silent death-blows, ultimate erasure.
Time's the dancing skeleton in all our
closets, skinny snowman with a grin
as black as coal or holes in space that swallow
lost neutrinos whole. He's starving thin.
Forget-me-nots give way to autumn asters.
Remember God, and Time yields to his Master.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Falling Time
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1 comment:
Time is definitely a skeleton in our closets. Have a great day.
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