The Edge Of Time
I am empty, thin despairing,
paring the curling flakes of cold damp grey dirge
Swimming hard against the tide,
cocooned within a ravaged shell.
Wind swept, ragged upon ripping tides,
deserted by my intellect.
I am overrun by self pity and doubt,
without a way forward or back or out.
In a kiss of moment I will cease to be,
no more than dust and sand.
How cold, how cold it has become, colder yet within this dank and sorry place.
Withering age whispering the heralding of my demise, tugs at my sleeve for one last time.
Gesturing a crooked finger toward the light,
bright like a halo,
wherein it awaits me
across still waters
upon the long cold lonely
edge of time.