I ask for no intrusion,
give no welcome here.
The hour is late,
Or mayhaps not.
Time plays on in timbres unfathomed –
that orchestra of woe,
winding wood and brass face;
a metronomic bomb
swaying
back and forth;
tick-tock – from dawn of time,
back and forth,
through rhyme and minuet,
forth and back –
the pendulum chimes,
into oblivion
and…
“The End is nothing to fear,”
they say –
read the scriptures, say your prayers
and virtuous death awaits.
…funny how you live your life
believing in a lie.
I see forever now,
fading into view,
crystal clear,
variant truth –
all but a breath away.
(c) Darren Hawbrook
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