I stopped late in life ...
to look at memories fading less
and gaining ground over the crest
laid on us all like the hand of time.
There's no horror equal or real
to finding what's been, turn back round
your lying, the intent, chasing you down
never letting up, cresting repentance.
Failing your humble understanding of this
how your very soul will haunt you 'til death
creates personal scrooges for some, and I.
I seek forgiving counsel from all I've done in.
And, you see, though the past fades
we can never pretend anything ends.
What I've dispatched, reasons aside,
took an injurious force, my lies a farce lid.
Save me enough time to right my wrongs
and count on me for everything else
you've come to know and trust me for.
... before growing wise was enough.
5/2008, rjduberg
1 comment:
Hello.....I've just read a few of your poems ( although it's late and the small white font on the blue back ground is making me eyes wig out )and I must say, you have a unique style....love your rhyming, and your inner rhyming and your run on thoughts.
S1, L4....hand of time or hands of time?
Last stanza sums it all up nicely.....save me enough time to right my wrongs/ and count on me for everything else......
Good write!
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