A Prolapse in Time

 
Grandfather slows, yet I saw him stride by
He left me here high in the dry
Repeating the whistle as the hours slip away
I’m sure in the end I will be made to play

Edit my dreams, for there I am whole
Inside my call I hear them all
The slow stride of time, I can’t seem to grasp
Normality fades and I am here at last

The lost calls for questions, infects my mind with mellifluous breach
I hold the lost keys, which I was bequeathed
The long stride of night opens my eyes
Now daylight is gone I can work with some pride

Curse the day and all its entrapments
Judged by my fellows from uniform minds
Tackling the subject one stride at a time
A tunnel consumes me as I peer out in misery
Forget the life’s faults and dive into mystery

Hatred of daylight, hate for the normal
Down here I wonder in absolute turmoil
The turmoil of paucity, the redolent living scroll

Dead to the end and living for none, arcane inscriptions become my joy

Lost in the library of myself
Stride on by
Grandfather become me

It is unclear, yet somehow idolatry
Ignominious in its scripture and painful in its encumbrance

Father become me, oh father of time
Let me control thee and drink of the wine

In sanguine fields I long to be free, oh father of time please fail me