we Have Such Little Time...

Time, with Its quiet waiting,

Silent wanting, shameful visage 

From within. Standing gately 

All around me, keeping 

Quiet in the din. 

we do not, within it all, accept 

At all Its silence and Its rage. 

As quietly, It gingerly 

Runs lengthened fingers 

'Cross our page.

Sweet Time, 

Old Time, 

Old Father, time

To go

Before the lights within, 

Without blow out

And take us derelicts 

In tow.

(Screaming, fitfully)

Be kind, Old Time! Forget

That claim that on us You

Now hold: 

To keep us silenced and

Forever thus entombed

Within Your fold!

(somber now...)

Sweet Time, 

Quiet Time, We

Have such little time, you know;

To waste a-not

And wanting what we

Should have always known

Would be more fanciful than real, 

More tamed demure intoxication than 

The constructs of our steel and hardy 

Tongue, thus lashing out, foolhardy 

In its rage against Kind Time, 

Sweet Quiet Time, 

Whose fingers turn each page 

From book to boundless energies, 

Thus floating in the squall 

Of aftermaths of aftermaths, 

Alive, despite it all. 

As Time, 

Sweet Time, 

Sweet Eager Time and I, 

Most effortlessly, hand-in-hand 

Above it all shall fly 

To distances most distant and 

Most definitively new; 

Where all that's left is what We've done, 

Not what We've meant to do; and 

Quiet Time, 

Sweet Silent Time, 

Sweet Loving Friend and I

Shall, innocence now lost and gone, 

Be Heirs to every cry 

That once had kept Us

Silenced gately, thus 

Looking on, demure;from where We'd

Sought and even fraught 

Without comfort or a cure that

Seemed a-right and rightly so, for

Time, thus ticking on had

One desire: to feed Its fire and

Keep Us through till dawn.

(pause, reflect, begin anew)

Sweet Time, 

Quiet Time, 

Quiet Time, whose voice I share, 

Lead me not down leaden paths 

That end in deep despair;

But if, Sweet Time, 

My Quiet Time, my 

Final time is nigh, 

Then grant me this, my 

Final wish, and let 

The We be I.