Time is fleeting

like dandelion seedlings

like worry

you dare not waste

here today

gone

forever

you thought you were

a dream

Now, a dead dream

a dead giveaway

to the waking man.

Eternal moments

are the last hour

days, gone by

like a dusty road

undisturbed

for

such a long time

You walk down it

into time

taking time away

from the present moment.

Cliffs

and hawks

and mountain peaks

discern your destiny.

Regrets

are for the disappointed

man

the beaten man

the resigned

man

who no longer yearns

for mountains.

Out of the well that wonders

out of the depths

of defeat

out from the past

of changing years

out from the choices

never made

out of the wandering wilderness

out from the race

that left you behind

out from faded black and white pictures

into color

where my soul grows

like wild flowers

into the twilight of life

the scariest

most suspenseful

hour.

We grow among the pruning shears of society

We laugh in the silence

and stay silent

among mockery

to be what life has defined

and stretch the spelling of its diction

to refuse to be a child, again

to refuse the bosom of a second mother

to be a man

cleaving to no man

or woman

to be undefined

unarticulated

until the final hour.

Your composition

in time

is a score

that does not keep score

a symphony

blasting through the mountains

one time.

Sandcastles erased

on the beaches of nowhere

by tides

regular, recurring

tides.

What purpose does nature possess

except to possess us with our eternal will?

Unwilling to wait

not wanting

the basic necessaries of society

wanting none for myself

only myself

I am the whole world

in one

there is nothing outside

of man.

6 thoughts on “Your Final Hour

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