comes a time

comes a time, sometimes, words seem to run out:
the serious ones, the cute ones, the exotic ones,
even the dreaded rhymes, sometimes, they disappear
and the things that are left behind, not that kind;
staring into an empty hole, with nothing much clear:
cling to the doorframe that is familiar, head hung low,
hold your breath as long as you can, try to hide the fear,
try to forget everything you dreamed, and what you now know;
turn out the lights and see if your heart will glow,
stand in the corner and watch your shadow shrink
what you learned you somehow no longer know,
not even enough left to make you stop and think;

comes a time, sometimes, when all you want to do is go,
when you tire of just watching the river flow,
when what you've done is nothing, nothing at all,
and when the future crouches in wait, behind the next stone wall;
when hope is impaled on the lance at noontime,
and looking forward is a fool's enterprise, a fake gambit
wearing a pretty woman's disguise, lying here and there,
lying eyes, and you're hypnotized, mesmerized,
and though you think you are the master of your ship,
turns out, you aren't, and anyway, it is capsized;
when all of your tears have evaporated and your hunger
is all at once sated, when there is no fire left down under;

comes a time, sometimes, when there comes no more times.


January 23, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. Like there's any point.