| ? TIME ? When time is but a word, and not a passage, clocks and calendars tick and turn and burn into eternity's face the tears of a stranded place and time; where there's no lack of rhythm, or of rhyme, but faulty meter is a crime; held prisoner in her tracks... derailed. As persons move on through this boundless sea, like trains hell-bent, then heaven-sent; they perchance turn and snicker, or wave good-bye to bodies lost in time and space; no chance to learn the steps which earn the right of passage thru the door, and evermore unhinged. Warping, and twisting and riding the line, she unwinds divided and yet remains fragmenting parts of the same unkempt clock devoid of days and nights relative to the frames of life... ..ticking on.. ..tick..tock..tickety..tock stop..trickety..plock. All spent from the beginning, yet never tried, but always true though black and blue and always left behind. © Sarah Gallant 2001-2002 |