TIME'S RELENTLESS TIDE

 

TIME’S RELENTLESS TIDE

The Earth spins,

a dizzying whirl of blue and green,

seemingly twice as fast

as ever it spun before,

tilting wildly on its unforgiving axis—

time, time,

it is you I damn,

you I curse with venom,

with every relentless tick

of the unseen clock.

Once, you were a gentle thing,

something relative,

a pliable companion

I could bend with a smile,

stretch with a lingering glance,

but now you’ve hardened,

now you are the definitive,

the unyielding tyrant

I blame—

blame for this departing flight,

this bus ticket clenched

in a trembling fist,

this train voucher

smoldering like a coal

in the depths of my pocket.  

Can’t we negotiate,

haggle like weary merchants

in a bustling, sun-scorched bazaar,

spread our wares—

our chips, our hopes—

across the bargaining table,

make it a true Daily Double,

a reckless wager

pitted against fate’s cold hand?

What I wouldn’t give,

what riches I’d surrender,

what kingdoms I’d forsake

for just one more hour,

for those lips—

starting soft,

a tender brush of velvet,

a fleeting whisper,

until soft becomes

a distant memory,

a language lost

to the storm that follows.  

Kissing with passion,

passion that seizes breath,

kidnaps it like a thief

slipping through midnight shadows,

while we move

in all directions—

north, south, east, west—

a compass spun mad,

our bodies charting

the wild terrain of desire,

shadows leaping

across the wall,

silhouettes locked

in a beautiful chaos,

a tangle of limbs and dreams,

etched in the trembling glow

of a candle’s dying flame.  

Please,

let us halt the clock,

let us bribe the moon

with silver promises

to hang a little longer,

let us coax the stars

to slow their endless arc,

to grant us mercy

in their celestial drift—

for in this fragile moment,

I am not ready

to release you,

to watch you slip

through the hourglass,

a single grain of sand

swallowed by the tide.  

But time,

you cruel maestro,

you wave your baton

without pause, without pity,

conducting your symphony

of loss and decay,

and I am left

to gather the fragments,

the splintered shards

of our stolen seconds,

to cradle them close,

fragile as blown glass,

sharp as regret—

knowing they will slice,

knowing they will bleed,

but still I hold them tight,

for they are all

that lingers

of the beautiful