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This Time
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Soul Poetry This time is fleeting
and hard to grab hold of
with these gnarled fingers of pain.
Too soon, days pass,
leaving yesterday's hopes
even farther behind.
Glimmers of tomorrow
echo in the tick-tocks of my mind
in sparse shadowy images.
Recalls of yesterdays,
flicker like a grainy silent movie
replaying over and over in my head.
Infinity looms, defiant,
perched upon the ledge
of sanity's abode.
This time is short-lived
and made even shorter
by reality's merciless hand.
