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The Last Tick Of The Clock
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The light grows dim at my window,
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Ancient eyes,lurid in twilight;
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In dying light,leaves falling
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Each,an ember of rememberce;
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of bygone youth and hope eternal
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Now figments long forgotten.
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The years but days,in lifetime passing
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Brown and Auburn turn to silver;
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Old heart strings flutter in youthful passion
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Knowing not,the ancientness,of the hour.
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Final moments creeping swiftly
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Mortal darkness fast approaches;
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Palsied fingers,an icy trembling
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But all that remains of the morrow
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So,breath soft and deep these final seconds
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For time at last is feeling sorrow;
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It's dark replaced with spirits fleeting
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It knowing,the last tick of the hour
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Joseph M.Corson copyright 2000
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Through the night it roams,alone.
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In the midst of time it wonders,a thing of destiny.
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From the cold,it strides the earth.Where shall it end.
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It rides the infinite winds in darkness,by crumbling walls
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It,s face unknown to mortal man.
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Through the night it flees,to dwell in no mans' path.From
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the past it came,or perhaps it was the future.
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Slowly it eats the heart of man,slowly it consumes his
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soul,it's presence unseen in mortal form.
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It is feared,for it is not real,it is matter,nonexistent.
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Oh beware ye man,for the derelict lies in wait.
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Joseph M. Corson copyright 2000
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