The day before it
happens ,
everything feels the
same ,
everything looks the
same .
☆
No other-worldly signs
will save memory
of those splintered realities .
☆
The surface of
a mountain lake ,
now cold and
emotionless ,
☆
Like a mind
untramelled by thought ,
not the slightest breath of wind
☆
To move one tiny drop
transfixed on the surface
of that mirror for the sky .
☆
But in backrooms of reality ,
misplaced moments
swell like maggots .
☆
They feed on forgotten
dreams and dance on
tables like a dervish .
☆
Now a second , then
a minute , finally
an hour disappeared by stealth .
☆
When the King of
Chances ,
entering the great hall ,
with eighty cupids , all fall silent ,
☆
As thunderous , the
chime of Destiny
brings all time screaming
to meet
☆
Your present moment
☆
Now .
