the clock as a passenger

looks with helpless hands,

as time often cast upon

the rocks of mans momentum

stalls past and present collide,

memory that flattering

cinemagraph of the synaptic’s

relays something other than was,

short breaths come

falter far from the heart,

we as living in this space

age,

flesh wither

wrinkles cluster and deepen

bones become fragile,

yet we strive to linger on

place ourselves as memory on others

so that it is not in vain

even a fragile hand held

is a memory,

cruel tides wash through time

that pull and toss you about,

so steady you remain

until that moment,

that flesh becomes shell

and memory is a function

of recollection,

not ready

it happens

now it is time to accept

and face your own reflection

again

 

 

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Comments
  1. lucychili says:

    we are transient things

  2. tinkwelborn says:

    memory, loss, grief, existence….
    it’s all here.
    good job.

  3. “Cruel tides wash through time” Now that is one amazing line filled with so much meaning. Loved this

  4. gardenlilie says:

    Those first five lines, incredible, like magic. I’m so glad I got to read another one of your poems. The clock as a passenger with helpless hands, man, that’s timeless and alone like, almost cold like. Thanks.

  5. Lovely share specially these lines:

    that flesh becomes shell
    and memory is a function
    of recollection,
    not ready
    it happens

    I like the ending line of looking at one’s reflection ~

  6. brian miller says:

    yet we strive to linger on

    place ourselves as memory on others

    so that it is not in vain…those three lines encompass this poem well for me…the flesh becoming shell…the looking at your own reflection as you close is powerful too….

  7. claudia says:

    time to accept your own reflection again.. cool closure.. just watched a film about time and this resonated within as i read.. not so easy to let time go…

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