This Time Fading

The deliciousness of ignorance... This was hand written one very gray day while Andrew Bird's song Cataracts played on repeat for hours on end.

        This time as we go around
Older and more bothered
Deeper cries and heavier hearts
The days are thick,
They trudge on within our day planners
And sighing woes

And time, this old withered soul
Pulls itself along by the fingernails
Dragging these old hours
atop its war-torn spine

Oh, but would you even hear the hacking,
The coughing tearing through its stretching chest
With tears that lick along the tissue
And the muscles, atrophied and wasted
Shaking in quiet desperation

Oh, but would you even hear it if you could?

We’re having another go around
And time, its grown hungry
And its skin is sticking to its bones

Have you not noticed the stench that causes these paper walls to curl?
Does it not tear streams from those big batting eyes?
Oh, those young wet lashes stretching out in mini triangles
Join together just in time
The curtain drawn tightly across your senses

Oh, but would you even see it if you could?

Knees scraping, splintered against the wooden floors
Time’s made its way as best it could
With blood slowing along the thinning walls of its broken veins

Go writhe in dejection between your sheets
That cloak you from the days that have long-since passed

This time around, the rooms are
Duller and darker, with
Shattered window panes and hardened hearts

And your heels, they stick to the cold puddles beneath them
And your eyelids and your pretty bright lashes
Lock forever as your senses fade out, without realizing
The blood in curves and circles around your feet

Time has stopped its breathing
Has run out of room for the nothing in its stomach
And the blood in its body has poured so long for you
That there is none left to puddle around
And cool those alabaster feet that have not moved in so long

It has run out of bones and skin and flesh
In its waiting for you to notice

And while it has
waited and
waited and
waited
With shaking shoulders, destitute and unnoticed
Within its achingly futile circles

Have you not wondered once
As you stand closed-eyed
Inside silent motionlessness
What time it is?

Reviews

[Adrian K. Smith]

There is an awkward normalcy to your words that strikes me quite odd. On one hand, I feel that the language should be all off - that it is not quite right. On that other hand though, I realize that the language is fine, here. With another writer, it might appear off. Here though, it feels right - it feels normal. It is only awkward in the sense of how natural it is, and in this world of regurgitated form and style - it cannot help but feel out of place. Well done....

[Love Struck]

I can feel the emotion and passion projected from this; every word, every stanza you used was so beautiful. And the fact that you wrote it out by hand must mean that you had a lot of inspiration with these thoughts...I think this is the kind of poem that can have multiple meanings to different people, but there's only one true message in there, hidden by the writer. Good job!

[JRB]

i agree with Adrian, nice write,
Jan/uisiom

[Tomás Ó C..]

I love the language in this... have you ever tried writing in rhyme?