evenings dwindle ever so slowly
as if Time had forgotten to breathe;
suspended, in effortless gloom
wildly wishing
the overture would change for once
monotones bleed from things once cherished and abhorred;
people so beloved
held cruelly by the vortex created by Time and Land
the clock strikes its usual hour with an poignant ‘ding’
echoing in the staleness of now.

perhaps I’m deluded Time had forgotten her cue;
perhaps I myself had forgotten to live,
perhaps I had turned cold and merely waited for warmth to thaw me,
perhaps the wait for that elusive desire
halts the need for progression;

Perhaps
I have tasted the dismal dismay this disgruntled encasement delivers;
it took so long to notice...