5 Ene 2009, 0:48
That which I crave, sweet interlude!
That I might pause for a pulse or two,
Or might a day or four or forth!
To recall what was I hunted forth.
Indiction thrice has past me by
With naught a score of stilled comfort.
And for a beat, now ponder, bleak;
If ever such, might or not, be ensured…
Might eons more yet come to pass
And not another come to wonder
If a chron might worth a second more
Not served upon a silver platter?
And as for me I've paused and gone,
And not another strain thought
Shall again, as now, be put to the matter.
But perhaps with scores of eons more,
Forced be this thought upon another.
For a’ brought with times chaotic reign
A trifle of importance waned
That should have gone towards other matters!