Thread by @RCdeWinter

#poetry

Prom Sunday

Spiraling downdowndown roundroundround as the wheel turns
relentlessly across the vast indifference of the cosmos,
a lone small voice calls out in the chaos:
The time, the time! What TIME is it?

Is it time to splash across the firmament in a gaudy crescendo of color,
unmistakable and wild,
or is it time to be stone, mosscovered, unremarkable except for the
solidity?

Who is entering through the revolving door – who is heading out to where
no one can see the end of all the light there ever was?
Is there time enough to live without regret, or have there been so many wrongs
that nothing we can ever do will right them?

Is it time to give up, taste the bitter powder of defeat,
or time to batter 'gainst what crushing odds crouch, silent?
Is the clock ticking doubletime now that the tunnel shortens,
or is that simply the perception of the ones who walk on farther?

Secondsminuteshoursdaysweeksmonthsyearsdecadescenturiesmillenniaeons
pass as slowly or as swiftly as we let them.
We can't stop Time; he races with the sun and always wins,
but we can be immersed, afloat, surrounded
in his generous embrace.

There is always time for living.
There is always time to feel.
There is always time to give and time for taking.

And no, the graysuits down on Wall Street can't invest it,
can't hold it ‘til the time is right to trade it;
no yellow howto books for dummies on this subject.
Alone we occupy our carrels in the millionmaze of mayhem,
striving mightily to ravel out, judiciously, our efforts.

Is is time?
Is it TIME?
Are we THERE yet?

© 1999 RC deWinter
Published in @GenreUrbanArts – Issue 7, July 2019

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