The day is at hand at last –
that hand which is just short
by a day of when I can
rest the pen and bask in
my own moment of glory.
I said in jest – it is all downhill
from the halfway mark. Now I
ken what that charade implied;
the climb was too quick and
easy – I’ve fallen thus far before.
I have no real fear of falling –
it is deceleration at the end
I don’t care for, a sudden
arresting. And the change in state,
ice from quantum dreams.
I will reflect then – slow the pace,
find 500 more poetic offerings
sedately. The manic speed of
late has spawned a carelessness
I don’t wish to die for.
© 2007-02-12 I.D. Carswell
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