Mike Bell/ August 5, 2016/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

A life reversed, when the rules were fair,
clocking-on was simpler, when time wasn’t feared:

Now striding coarse slabs – to monitor my state,
balance on flagstones – this path of restraint.

Sweet-sliced fruits, thin-cut childhood,
allotments in time, when the growing was good.

Yes, we had threats, assured Armageddon,
but now I live, struck, by a chiming destruction.

I shall still travel, on the edge of the blast,
making each stride one more, not the last.

But, seeing me frozen, appearing to be stuck,
that’s the point when I’m time-fucked.

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