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