Dust on the page

it is a sinister ticking

time that is

and as the sea cares nothing of the leviathan

time will have no conversation with our hopes and dreams

and relentless as she may be she is not born of malice or harmful intent

only simple indifference to whether we breath or sleep

and I have found perception a strange thing to behold

how years are measured differently depending on where you stand

how villainy and virtue can be seen in one act according to the eye it falls before

how two may see the same sunrise one being witness to a beginning the other to an end

and I ask dear reader only because these things have become troublesome to me

 

am I the action perceived ?

or am I the unseen reason ?

 

but it is unfair I suppose to place such burdens before strangers

though I do wander in these things

it has not always been so

I have not always been so inward turned

there were times though it seems now to be all of legend and myth

when there was much more living and being and companionship

but faded and hazed are these memories now

more smoke and ghost than terra firma and bone

but let us be silent among these creaking shadowed verses

careful not to wake sleeping enemies and old forgotten curses