My Time

Vintage Words


Sad perhaps to say

it is soon to be done, my

time. Years of moving without

pain, laughing without

regret, caring asking no

reward, taking verbal

and abusive blows without

too much complaint.


Occasioned, the living backward

had the reigns, ploughing terrains

imagined and not. Looking 

at mountains from the base

and looking from mountains

to the horizon.


Outdistancing the expected,

carrying around the impossible

was a chore, but necessary.

Stay ahead of running time

that always and still rules

the feet and ache-tease hands



The hard work done, it has gone

into my legacy's foundation. I can

not bleed against the pierced skin

of advancement or sweat in high sun

as if I am mostly done. The reigns

slip from aging fingers and I am

mostly done. Truly, but not yet.

Not quite yet.







Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was a skeletal poem but I liked the heart of it  and  the rewrite says so much more. ~S~

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