Tag: time

The Fangs Of Spring

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Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva from Pexels

The first breath of spring pushes its fangs into the city.

It’s not a question of why, it’s a question of when it’ll hit me

That not a single blood cell of mine remembers your venom

And the gashes in my chest no longer open if you tear them.

Perhaps time heals all but pure spite cures in leaps –

No wonder tears dry faster when the rosy fog leaves.

I keep driving past the places where you made me overflow

And now they smell like gasoline, the warning sign of a foe.

It might seem foolish but I’ve been walking by your street

Hoping that I get a chance to bring you the desert heat

Just like you did, shamelessly thinking you’re being witty…

The first breath of spring pushes its fangs into the city.

-JW

Burning From Both Ends

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Photo by Henry & Co. from Pexels

Time only stops for those who outrun it, no wonder this city doesn’t age.

These days are all the yesterdays, and tomorrow’s locked in a silver cage.

We rush down the boulevards, around the parks and through tall buildings,

The concrete in our lungs feels sweeter than betrayals or deserved killings.

But the air keeps changing its flow through the spaces we once worshiped.

All the unsteady boats in our neon ports look more like grey warships.

And the catacombs of our minds leak like candles burning from both ends.

The towers bend and the walls are closing in on those who swore to defend.

“If you have the courage, then I also have the courage to run even faster,”

We try to calm ourselves with these phrases to please the blue masters.

Yet – time only chases those who outrun it, no wonder we carry this rage.

All our yesterdays melt into blurry mist and the time is knocking again,

Asking to turn the next page.

-JW

Clockwise

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Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

Living on the edge of an astronomical clock turning backwards.

The time isn’t real, nor is the space – we’re simply bad actors.

Leaping through the worst past and present can offer, spinning

Back into my oblivion patched with torn memories, singing,

Re-enacting old scenes while the hour hand’s draining me to the bone.

Might feel obscene to these petty people living in their heads

All alone.

But I go up the minute hand, I chase the escape wheel and fall –

Hanging in the flow of the time by a blue thread, dirty and small.

Jumping after each palm reached out to me but I’m somehow missing.

My spine is rubbing into another manipulated reason to stop hissing

And get back to giving all my warm blankets to those who bow

So low to see the last inch of hope leaving the body I liked years back

But now barely know.

I cling to the second hand, almost being ripped in two by the heat.

The change of algorithm is washing my brain of sins and of greed.

Running up the hill of no escape, right up to the promised rope –

You might think I’ll make a noose but by know you must know

I’m not a trope

And I’d rather tie the ends together to keep my own brain intact

Than give you another graveyard fairy-tale of a ghoul eating the hero of my favorite tale

In the second act.

-JW