Post by AquarianM on Oct 9, 2003 at 7:15am
The Long Shadow of Time:
I feel it in every cool breath,
The ones I can see and not just hear,
In the slow turn of the stars I so adore,
In the disappearing green,
Like a flood of ennui in a field of stalks of gold,
The barest hint of purple twilight coming behind me,
The long low visual hush of fall fog over hugging the corn,
The way the geese are in ever larger vees overhead,
Or the growing blackbird clouds,
The death of green leaves and flowers last week,
In a hard night time freeze,
The slant of sunlight in disappearing afternoons,
The incessant insufferable inevitable ticking of clocks,
Every last tale of another year gone,
I sing with the mourning birds,
I could fall into the sky and hear stars whisper,
Or maybe spend a season in the headstones,
Crying over those I lost,
Candles with ice and snow coming,
How many more springs will we see,
Before I'm dusting pyramids in Egypt,
Specks on the wind that outlasted me,
Like all my personal legends,
Forgotten and fallen off the world,
So I write and I pray midnight mysteries,
Beg Eternity for a stone in it's pool from which to croak,
Pray that it's not the lilly pad,
Floating transient and lost,
Somewhere under the long shadow of Time.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/09/2003
Author's Comments:
The changing season always drives it home, like a stake through the heart.
I feel it in every cool breath,
The ones I can see and not just hear,
In the slow turn of the stars I so adore,
In the disappearing green,
Like a flood of ennui in a field of stalks of gold,
The barest hint of purple twilight coming behind me,
The long low visual hush of fall fog over hugging the corn,
The way the geese are in ever larger vees overhead,
Or the growing blackbird clouds,
The death of green leaves and flowers last week,
In a hard night time freeze,
The slant of sunlight in disappearing afternoons,
The incessant insufferable inevitable ticking of clocks,
Every last tale of another year gone,
I sing with the mourning birds,
I could fall into the sky and hear stars whisper,
Or maybe spend a season in the headstones,
Crying over those I lost,
Candles with ice and snow coming,
How many more springs will we see,
Before I'm dusting pyramids in Egypt,
Specks on the wind that outlasted me,
Like all my personal legends,
Forgotten and fallen off the world,
So I write and I pray midnight mysteries,
Beg Eternity for a stone in it's pool from which to croak,
Pray that it's not the lilly pad,
Floating transient and lost,
Somewhere under the long shadow of Time.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/09/2003
Author's Comments:
The changing season always drives it home, like a stake through the heart.