Poem about time
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Between midnight and dawn, When the 13th hour strikes, Before the hourglass turns, When the calendar sits empty, Before the old year has gone, Time loses its meaning.
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Daylight burns into smouldering sunsets Then fades into the charcoal of night. Each morning the dawn strikes a new match, Lighting a fire that burns hours into ashes. Once started, the flames cannot be extinguished. What’s incinerated cannot be unburned.
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Houses germinate like weeds, Popping up- unwanted- in the fields. The overgrowth has altered the landscape. I dig through the new branches to find the routes- Roots to anchor the present to the soil of the past. The old dirt road has been paved. A thick layer of tar to smother memory lane. I glided
Bringing Mae Flowers 