Marooned
on an island in the sea of time
Surrounded
by the functional furniture of life,Where only the future is not forbidden,
Sin and innocence wrapped in layers of strife.
The ever shifting battleground of difference
Confronts me now, no sides to take,
The powerful pull of vague memories
Helps me to sleep; keeps me awake.
Starboard is the now, leeward is my haven,
Fore or aft? The querulous choice,
There are times in life when lies are a kindness,
Alone in the world, time takes its time, one voice.
Yet time gets away from me, still it’s always near,
Slow as molasses on a downward slope,
Perfection is as close as the horizon,
Today is crying time; yesterday, laughter was the hope.
Where to now for my sundered soul?
How to listen with the ear of the mind,
The grind-stone; my constant coat-of-arms,
Can’t know what to seek, what to find!
Who can paint a portrait of the wind?
Who can tell the stringer from the strung?
Everything new in this world is dated,
Songs yet to be written have many times been sung.
I tarry and I ponder on my island home,
The biggest lie of all, my home-made truth,
No future in the past, I must go on
On penance path, to trepidation’s booth.
If I could leap across my sun-dried shadow
I might clamber up grey shingles on far shore,
Fate advised I might go somewhere else,
I told her I had lingered there before.
