Time with a Capital T

Time with a capital T.

How wrinkled are those hands,

that grasp at the slippery knob,

of the doorway of Time –

digging dirtied fingernails into the wood,

to leave splinters embedded in shrunken veins -

assaulting nerves that cannot feel.

And as those tender and vicious fingers,

scratch at the portal that will not yield,

picking a lock that will not obey,

they are met with the voice of the young,

the Poet,

a soft whisper from the other side of eternity,

“I tried to tell you and you would not listen.”

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