With time on my hands,
I fell into a calendar daze,
For my hours became weeks,
and my months a perennial haze.
External forces halted the movement of the sun,
And nothing ever ended,
for the day was never done.
I am slipping silently now
into a future that does not exist,
I am sliding with the ease of a serpent into a past,
which has become completely amiss.
Tracks of the present are likened now to the sands of time,
Flowing in retrospect to the halting place of my mind.
For I am in a calendar daze,
and trapped haltingly to the confines
Of times irreversible perennial haze.
J. Allen Wilson © 2005
Tybee Island, Ga. 3-25-05