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

www.Jallenwilson.com