Saturday, August 08, 2020

In The Church Of No Time...

In The Church Of No Time... 

The bully pulpit ticks,
Sacramental sand flowing,
Down a narrow waist,
Water filling a balance,
Wick burning,
Mark-by-mark through tallow,
Too dark for a sun dial,
Evil red numbers change in cadence,
A lock on perception,
An artificial rush,
Even rhe Sun and Moon,
Leading stars and planets,
Dancing to an endless river,
Of these ticks and tocks,
We're born into bondage,
No mercy and no respite,
The closest freedom is sand and surf,
A seemingly endless cadence its own,
In the end it must run out,
We all run screaming out,
The fire of our agony is even finite,
Here in the Church of No Time.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/08/2020

#Poetic Philosophy #Political