The Clock is Ticking

Walking this beach,
there is a feeling of incompleteness,
restlessness,
unfinished business;

paupers,
waiting for the axe to fall;

so much suffering,
so much dying,
does anyone deserve this?

Like a side of beef
she leads me to this place,
selling me to the highest bidder,
giving up without a fight,
no resistance,
no struggle,
only shame.

There is a depth here,
untold symmetry,
flapping and unfurling
with the newborn sun,
words come easy,
light and free,
no longer encumbered
by stones of inertia,
shooting through the unlimited
nighttime sky with
a touch of innocence;

there is a depth here.

This boiling sun
is no longer a home,
this raging sea
provides no relief,
old bones come home
to roost,
the clock is ticking;

time is running out.
.
.