CAROUSEL OF TIME
spinning memory webs
outside my window,
as a carousel of galloping seasons:
birth – existence – death…
Unable to appreciate answers,
perhaps, not even understanding the question,
stifling ignorance –
mesmerized by disadvantaged opportunities;
imagined – real…some unrealized.
I sift through granules,
a search in vane
for that absent vacuum of moment -
as suspended in linear magic
to bitter-bare clutter of branches.
The hours are shorter,
a jolly-insignificant patchwork
stitched by puckered fingers
spreading the tapestry of being
taut - beyond control;
existence – death
on the backward strobe,
the human comedy
at an end.
@Nick Zegarac 2007 (all rights reserved).