Those shadows the epitome of time

let me bruise them so they cannot move,

make those pale moments clearer

in the light of the hurt-

a life no longer drenched

in shapes eclipsing the stopwatch,

now I can pause time when I want to

escaping the minutes for hours,

see the clouds in still shift,

alluding to an illusion

of some fading minute,

the hands of the clock skim ...

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Those dulcet shadows

chased my figure,

dancing. a motif,

that refrained

to end of those pages,

a requiem of endless sobriety

to those euphoric seconds

lost to me.  

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