…with a jolt.
It came to me,
in the hapless,
caught between distant night
and sad days,
that never might there be a tomorrow,
where mine eyes were shifted,
to the highest peak.
…that perhaps, I was only fit for the toil,
like so many,
and too few.
@Nick Zegarac 2008 (all rights reserved).
This great passing cavalcade of time,
rarified by the moment,
as melting snowdrops,
or the last frozen bits of water
distilling into my cocktail.
Inebriating, that is…
until the empty bottom of the glass,
stares back with panged remnant juices,
still clinging about the rim,
as if, to say – ‘this, is not for you’.