A day fleeting and pirouetting,
Torrent of moments cascading in light,
A flood played in with childlike vetting
Which is to say unappraised til the night.
Yet life savored without reserving
Terror for hours we relinquish with ease
Was gold streaming, too much deserving
Hands that could only travail as they please.
So soon seasons are reified and
Slumber in eddies of restless repose,
Then time rushes and crashes high on
Rocks of diversion beyond youth's control.
The New Moon in the black sky rises,
Cloudy the twilight opaque is aroused,
And time's current is catalyzed, is
Rendered so vicious in midnight's dark shroud.
The font flows in the hazy cover,
Often unseen and elusive in sound,
When young leisure like leaving lovers
Swaps all the pastimes to idleness found.
The young Moon with its novice lantern
Casting its waxing and slanting caress
Upon night like a journeyman who,
Working new wonders, is ever impressed.
The new night is now lit up slightly,
Partially visible now in the stream
Which too gambols, pretending spritely,
Calming its tempo like moments in dreams.
It shows some of its pace so freely,
Stretching its waves like the hum of a drone
When, what changes? The pace discreetly
Morphs through a tidal mechanic unknown.
The night passes in strange distortions,
Warps in a swirling temporal delay;
Its flow quickens then lacks all motion,
Even seems still as it speeds to the day.
The deep hours in their coalescing
Over the cup of perception beguiles
The sense subtle. The waves progressing
Faster and slower than sense reconciles.
As day surely ascends upon the
Misty horizon though only half-seen,
So too after enduring longer
Reaches of time than its wingspan would seem.
A sense stumbling through every midnight
Into the sunlight's eternalized now
For one moment: the fleeting insight
Teaching how fickle a sense we're endowed.
I lie watching the coming, going
Moments parading deceived by the show
To think, time must be slowing, showing
Now in my aging the way that it flows.
It's not so. And the time is ever
Subject to passion and boredom and need
In my eyes; so despite endeavors,
Moments will never relent to one speed.
In truth never its pace adjusting,
Constant above less the turmoil inside;
My want (always a wanting something)
Turning attention to patience defied.
A clear moment inert and empty
Offers a chance to observe and be felt,
The tide's changes from flowing gently:
Faster or slower are symptoms of self.
The time slipping between my fingers,
Powerless days that will always feel lost
To blank history's dustbin linger
Ever repeating themselves as the cost.
I am young, well, comparatively,
Dreaming my daydreams as yet to appear,
And time's distance unravels from me,
Stretching the seconds from that time to here.
Those days waiting in unfulfillment,
Patient but restless, unable to hold
The now blending together till then
Pouring beyond me in murmurs untold.
Unreal present of concrete moments,
How can you fasten my heart far away?
I live errantly, so expectant,
Waiting, unable to live in today.
And so, drifting while sadly singing,
Must I accept for companion the moon
And no other among the flinging
Foam and the waves while I drift off to Soon.
A place for my poems 