Father Time Was A Bastard

The diversion initiates my tears to perspire as
my inadequate antique watch surges on…

Ticking and tocking with the perpetual
precision of an eternally spiteful pendulum,
concerned only by its duty;

First chair in Father’s Great Orchestra

He tilts his temporarily with a devious
smirk…
…There is no rhyme or reason only the
seasons, waxing and waning with a flick of
His wrist...

As he exhales with a sigh, a winterly wind
wisps with a gust, thousands of tangled leaves
twist and turn in an erotic primal dance…

Father’s breath seduces these translucent
tingling leaves into orgasmic orange orifices
of dwindling ticks…

They slouch and fold as their consciousness
crumbles, all of the while unaware of the
time…

Bold and beautiful once they swayed, now
battered and bruised and they ultimately
lie…

In Mother’s Sanctuary

Before they are glanced upon or ever
touched, a blink of the eye and they all
decompose to dust…

The lovers still prance as the poets’ pens
dance, all of the while their toes still tap to
the ticking and tocking that Father
conducts…

Stalking it ticks, mocking it tocks, never for a
single instance does His prehistoric
orchestrated melody veer from its ancient tempo;

The Golden Rule

Unlike our hearts, its beat will never stop.
Our centrifugal existence will never pull out
of its graceful spin for a dip or a kiss…

Our Mother will never pause to give us a
farewell touch or any kind of notoriety…

Even after a lifetime of reciprocating love
and nourishment, while enduring her
Husband’s constant ticking and tocking,
She will deny us of any acknowledgement…

She will simply supply us with our final
resting place until Father washes us away
with his deliberate
tune…

His decibels increase until all are forgotten,
before He switches back to the tantalizing
tempo He used at the beginning…

At first He played such a soft sweet tune, but
as the ticks and tocks battled for supremacy,
the sound grew with their mounting desire…

Now as I lay amidst the last moments of my
desperation He beats savagely on His
deafening drum, drowning out my final
request…

After all, my request is for the absolute,
unattainable, universal dream;

A Moment of Silence

-Dan Boudreau