Spare Me An Hour

I wonder,

while my eyelids

weightless in a vacuum,

imagine miles

the allowance of a measure

a value option

when we cross paths

decide upon a course

of autonomy,

our own manner of delve

into a sea of natural

controversy.

~

While the world conveys

a certain security

in sync with

planned reality,

how often would we

wish to wallow

in the slow motion atmosphere

of minutes before

rather than the time ahead

unraveling before our very eyes.

Knowledge is a virtue,

begs to suggest we have already,

hiked along this trail of time.

Why Again

Why do I find this way,

the acceptable manner

again the hours long,

the time is as brief

as any other moment lost.

While the world around

decides upon their day,

for me it is the dawn

and setting of the moon,

throughout the sky,

I’ve watched as now,

I’m looking the other way,

still again,

still,

so beyond a scope

of reasoning,

I prey to the victim

of my own circumstance,

no one other,

only this self guided

tour of scrutiny

well beyond the norm

of a typical day.

I am that beast of

some myth, some adventure,

the one that always for reasons

did not get away.

So Tired Is Wakeful Wish

When we want what we cannot discover,

that part of our lives we tend to shatter

when simple acceptance might be rather

more easily attained than that challenge.

Have you watched the human being

quiet in their own repose alone soft

hearted and soulful with each glance.

Have you realized that the tiresome eyes

they provide our own visual record

might simply become the same fatigue

we all try to ignore, try to pretend away.

yet, when last we spoke of finding more

hours in the day, we were earnest with our

quest to plan our way more logically,

and yet again, well, glance at midnight.

The moonlight wanes this evening after

a weekend of brilliance to accentuate our

lives in a festive, explosive celebration.

Well that time is then, and today begins now.

Times when the Minutes Matter Little

Once a character mentioned a state of mind

Described the moment in a manner that everyone

Knows quite a lot about

Yet her response

That rather busy morning when everything routine

Would occur in a matter of minutes

Left him realizing he would spend time alone today

Not a bad thing

When humility takes over our vulnerable mind

Curiosity

Anxiety

Foreboding

Symptoms of reckoned perhaps surreal living

That rather busy moment when comparison fails

And we may realize our lives hang in the balance

The clock has a sound familiar

When seconds become our tally

Suddenly the morning sunrise

Settles into the western sky

And hours remain that will gradually amount

To another wasted evening of worry and concern

Still, when our body holds out for that last minute

Life’s confusion becomes far less fantasy driven

A Busy Day

When we decide

To choose our side

~

Every quiet moment in our lives

Becomes our oxygen; hope revives

~

Yet there always seems to be the time

To recognize the sun still rises on a dime

~

Always a concern

Cheesy term

~

Try not to worry this way

Tomorrow’s a new day

~

When the moon appears in the eastern sky

Pretty strong indication the day is nigh

~

Last time I tried

I was rather tied

~

To the clocks weighted ally

That’s our sanity we call reality

~

Oh, if only there was that twenty fifth hour

A complete day might a new dawn flower

~

For it is true

I am still blue

~

Knowing the work ahead

As each night I soon dread

~

When in the middle of decisions on the day

We might always wish for simply another way.