There’s an instant
In man’s life clock,
Nudges held distant
Thus to take stock,
Of his ebbing time
The gods but mock,
His maturing soul
Would incite mind,
To divest his whole
Of accumulated finds,
While then given bold
Hence till fate decrees blind,
To adversely admit hedging old!
You’ve no need to wonder,
you just wait your turn…
Life has me walk
This reach alone,
To suffer gauge
My weary bones,
With body’s age
I now but trip,
Upon this road
Lacking the fit,
Youth so defined
Tells be the image
Of ebbing time,
With faint recall
Can now but pine,
For home of old
When we explored,
First living bold
Did create lore,
Worth being told
Sufficient to entreat,
What equates hope
Though incomplete,
We’d learnt to cope
Life’s fickle sweeps…
I walk alone
In faded colours,
Upon this road
Of no return,
Held be my destined keep!
In this life’s space
Ebbing morrows
Be soon too few,
For day’s burn pace
Gives barely time,
To thus reach live
Your share to find,
Afore night is effaced!
There is a bend
In every road
That lies ahead,
Which I envisage
Observe in time,
As gods but lend
A meagre shade,
Of fleeting instant
Said be a lifetime,
They hypothecate
Up to ebbing tide,
So make ye haste
For one more taste,
As life pulls nearer
To its fated last reside!
In a vicious sky
I persist to fly,
In spite such rain
Has wind feel strain,
And clouds
Hang on a string,
Fixed to a heaven
Of Beelzebub’s reign,
Though but a dream
Of eerie things,
Time abandons
Who I am,
As so will yesterday
Find fade away,
While I compose
Thus but to hold,
Each ebbing day
To last beyond
A memory pared,
Of musings layered
In distant yesteryears!
Poetry on a Canapé 