And
then, at times, you find yourself
Placing
the time pieces
And
you smile for a while
But
oftentimes you find pieces right there
Staring
at you
Daring
you to do or undo
What’s
been done with you
And
the days dash to their ends
And
the nights mutate into dawns
And
before you could gasp
To
gasp for breath
You
hit a ditch
Out
of which you labor to pull your weight
Off
the grime of the evening
And
strain to walk
Against
flat land
Using
ropes and pegs
Placed
by ancient and fresh climbers
On
the canvas of time
And
on the brink of space
All
you do is sweat
To
avert small rock and avalanche
Gosh,
is this what's it's all about?
In
my tender years I was told
You'll
clear the plots
And
place only furnishings
Of
your own choice
And
you'll walk straight
To
the no-man's land
Where
your mind
Draws
the maps
Designs
the universe
Sets
it in order
And
hoists an orderly fence
And
you will lead a full life
With
no closure or anguish in sight…
On
third thoughts though
It
will be wise to surmise
That
the final draft
The
author plots
Will
prevail at all costs.
