delivered with razor edge.
You begin to churn time.
The ancient man sits motionless as eons.
The urgency exhales into zeal.
I am over watching the skylight dance beneath its own demise.
It tests his patience;
Reminds him that stars are powerful,
Cold eyes from the most enigmatic source.
Decided once a fool,
The old man sitting in the black performs patience well,
Nothing from an intolerable life should extend to legacy.
His head sticking with wound, dark blood in his veins.
He feels his hands may have been exact at reproach.
You are precious even if not there.
The smile of the ancient man betrays the truth;
He hasn't any of his own to take.
No, but then I am restless as time.
It has too long.
Poetry "Grotesque No. 3" Copyright © T.A. Miles
Derivation "Grotesque No. 3" by T. A. Miles