That last time, forty years ago this year,
clock tock, I hear the soft sharp music still
beat, grooved in my memory, offbeat we
wax the chimes, the bell choked to end then,
pop, the not forgotten, the exceptional rule, singer,
fool continuously singing, holding a note ’til now,
an echo chamber, white satin, rough poet
dreaming of being remembered too, long
after he has written every word into silence,
long holding back the rush, a bridge of time
that high, long, and strong, can barely hold, straddle
from that world to this, a steel thread unbroken forty years,
weakening slowly to handle all the water I should,
I know, have let go to rush away under it.
* * * * *
Today’s word is
time
Use it in, or to inspire, a piece of writing. Post that piece as a comment below. I’d love to read it : )
Lanning Lee 