Meaningful Writings

The time monster devoured those moments

we saved in this chest now empty of golden

dreams and silver laughter. We had hoped to

visit those old friends in our remaining years.

He swallowed them whole when we were away

rebuilding our lives, restoring rotted beams

that threatened to fall down on our heads,

shuffling off the years in a mindless busy work.

The time monster hid in the shadows of joy,

then when least expected, he pounced on us,

rode our backs like some wild beast, scourged

with stone-tipped floggings till we bled.

The time monster claims our only chance

is to grasp the hours one by one

as they flutter by, hold them in our palms,

nurture the tick-tock cooing from their beaks.

He says this world will spin us both away,

that each of us will fall like ripened fruit

when the tree grows weary of its weight.

He says, dance while there is still time.

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(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci