the sound of shuffling feet

the sound of shuffling feet

 

 

 

friends racing towards the finish line

and here

I sit sternly

writing poems

waiting for the gun to go off

so I can start my race

 

and face

the lapping they are composing

to the song

for which my lyrics suffer

 

in comparison

 

the emotions are deeper

than some chamber

on a pistol

 

the crack of the bullet

the doctors mull

referee

make house calls

and call houses with news

 

meanwhile the marathon

is cut short for some

shorter for others

 

and I am still at my desk

at the starting line

fingers triggering the keys

caressing them for some sign of life

 

age is relative

so, I have heard

maybe too, the sound of shots

 

my race begun

or a fatal wound

the bleeding is through my eyes.

 

 

erin-cilberto

2/13/24

Reviews

[Lorry]

I quite like the sound of shuffling feet Jacob, especially if it's slippered feet.
Just you keep sitting at your desk doing what you do and let the else of the cheering crowd dissipate into the distance as you compete to your own finishing time, without need for an alarm or Alexa or a calender and clock telling you it's a race to finish fastest.
Didn't the tortoise beat the hare in the end anyway? ☺

[jacob erin-cilberto]

No alarm, no Alexa...I like that.

thanks, Lorry...and yes, the tortoise won.
j.

[Sami Khalil]

The race of time, the rat race, the physical race of aging: all encompassed in this touching poem of awakening to reality and emotive realizations; same boat for all with different race experiences .

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, that rat race, just keeps going in circles...
thank you, Sami,
j.

[Sami Khalil]

So true and well said dear poet and friend. You are welcome sir Jacob

[Desert Knave]

I could pretty much hear Pink Floyd's "Time" playing in my head by the time I got to the end of this one. Well done. ~Jim

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, Jim,
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

The last Shot will be fired when flowers cover Graves where soldiers sigh...
softly, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

if only there could be a last shot and no more after that.
j.