It all comes down.
Eventually,
we don’t run.
We stay in place,
planted where we stopped.
Our eyes turned to the sky,
but we no longer grow.
I’ll find a different way,
I will,
I promise.
.
Avoiding the inevitable,
is just a trick of time,
some sleight of hand,
a grifter’s signature.
I stayed up all night,
by the light of a gas lamp,
trying in vain
to trick the cosmos.
.
I only ever tricked myself.
Never fooled you;
you saw right through me.
It all comes down,
like Rome in summertime.
Now winter is coming,
and we are desolate.
.
I lied to time,
and now,
time comes counting.
Every day,
accounting for every hour.
I can’t hide
in the dark,
quite like I used to.
It’s all come down to this,
I’m afraid.
.
.
HG – 2020