The Whims of Time

alcoholicpoet.com

when we were new and gentle the world would let us run. we had no need for promises.

everything was small. and the things that we wanted were irrevocably ours. 

but time must draw its nooses. and nooses will always find their necks.

now we are worn and aggressive. animals chafing against a stiffening leash.

every breath thick with the places that we've been. strays dropping breadcrumbs on a one way street.

we look in the windows. but all we see is our own reflection.

we knock on the doors. but inside, no one answers. 

skin is paper. touch is ink. words are the poison that wears our faces. 

it's a fever of choices. dominoes tumbling in an endless cascade of why.

inside an abattoir of questions. 

as we chew on the fingertips of time. 


Filed under: Sad Poetry November 2024