This Time

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.

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