Abode

Tick tock the ancient timepiece, steady as she goes.
Sun rising low slanted towards Spartan eventualities.
Death a cloying specter standing sentinel on the other side of realty.
Thin veil of change, a promised kiss in the dance of life.
Then let us waltz in caricature of the tangible.
Let us sing in tones of whispered remembrance
Let us tarry and wish again for senses taken
Let us feed off lovers embraced and the despair of the lost
We want
We are here
Can you not hear us ?
Can you not ?

© 2016 Michael Garland