|Posted by Salvatore Buttaci on July 23, 2011 at 10:10 AM|
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.
(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci
Categories: Short Stories - Poetry