The Apparitions Came For Me Again

The apparitions came for me again,
the ghastly, ghostly figures
came at dawn –
why now,
I do not have the time to think,
reflect,
certainly not to mourn
a time that passed
and by and large
before I myself was born.

But on the remnant wisps of dream
they flutter by
and powerless to wake I’m forced to see
time slipping backwards,
ruins rebuilding themselves
while people shrink and disappear
and others wake from sleep.

Eventually the clock resumes its ticking –
the one that stopped –
not that it even matters,
as life itself is unwearied
by the ticking of a clock
and our thoughts of passing –
we are just like the weather,
shifting, changing,
here and there
we come and pass;
what matters is the climate
and that
(sadly for us)
takes longer to assess –

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