on the edge of time

“Tomorrow is the first blank page of a 365-page book.
Write a good one.” ―Brad Paisley.

i stood
on the edge
of time,
hesitant,
for the darkness
was too deep
for my sullen spirit      
and the mountains too steep
for my swollen feet.
i could
try to dredge
where rhyme,
adamant
in its starkness,
made me leap
with no reason in it,
by the fountains that weep,
finding no retreat.

i gazed
at the open
skies,
whence lost dreams
beckon to me
like a ship
steadfast on the ocean,
with no landing in sight,
nor a lifebuoy's wink.
amazed
by unproven
cries
midst post-screams
of destiny,
frayed hopes slip,
faith loses devotion,
courage a parasite
in life's deep blue ink.

faint sighs
dangled on
the breeze—
latent tools
for future pains
i must face
on my hapless journey,
when day is killed by night
and the songs of eve
capsize.
strangled one,
let ease
be for fools;
when freedom reigns,
ends disgrace.
for the charms that burn me,
when darkness takes its flight,
leave me naught to grieve.

what though
my lone life
were spent
but to breed
amazing grace!
like sentinels,
all the charms that stun me
invigorate my soul
where their lava flows.
tiptoe
bends no knife,
content,
lest it bleed
and stain the place,
to break the spells
of the harm that’s done me.
tomorrow is parole,
grace is time’s repose.

© Copyright 2021 January 01
by Clyve A. Bowen♫