time passing
opaque
like a shroud
we can see it move
it shimmers with
an echo of our transgressions
precious but not forgiving
and without the generosity of a smile
I am trapped by nostalgia
the faded warmth of remembered thoughts
where-in the past has forgotten
the marching band of
acolytes goose-stepping forward
and left in a mould marked melancholy
where future movement
has lost its traction
and left me smooth
as a tiny beach stone
eyeing the braying tide
mikedohsays 