Countdown to Ignition

 

The passage of time

echoes

like the lonely swing

of a grandfather clock’s pendulum

resonates through an empty house.

Memories

of laughter and life

don’t linger

like old, forlorn ghosts.

 

Even the air

carries a milieu

of forgotten dreams

and broken promises.

Silence

is the only companion

in the tomb.

 

But Time is not a jailer.

It does not hold the keys,

nor does it guard the door.

Time is merely the notion

that there are any walls,

or doors,

or bars at all.

 

What is a life sentence

to the enduring?

What are the ticks

of the clock,

but measures

in a song.

Why would one dwell

in a prison

of their own devising?

 

Just outside

that limits of our senses,

our sense of self,

our concept of who we are,

are other people,

whose worlds

are unimaginable.

 

Whose prisons

are not prisons at all,

but vessels and vehicles.

They traverse

the very time that binds us.

They exist

between the darkness

and the light.

 

While we mourn

in the dark

of our lonely,

empty mansions,

we fail to recognize

that our prison

is a doorway.

 

Listen closely.

The ticking of time

could very well be

a countdown

to ignition.

 

 

HG – 2022

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