It's a snipe of time, this walking at dusk,
staring at me - the telltale sign of impending
doom - to look at again as though to
impossibly slow the day into night,
yet never to accomplish show colors,
bursts of color.
We'll start earlier next time, before the rush,
before the dim, the mansions bellow of
aging things we never saw before, the
cloud of remembrance, never to take back
what was gained or lost, never to travel
that dusk day again.
Let's talk of breathing - rightly, if we can
take a moment to ponder further operations -
metabolic impulses they are - to train the mind,
to move when lethargy says it will come again -
tomorrow with likely be similar, but strangely
With another, legs are energized, enlivened,
taken another mile a distance just beyond that
shadow, the emblem of leaves dead, but living
in dusk, in the fog of life, it's there and we
can see, how far we should go when we reach
© 2016 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.