Accordingly, after an inscription in the Apocalypse, <br />and fleet-footed time has run her marathon, <br />brandishing her scarce moments as a banner <br />to chronicle her final chapters as a scribe.Time, the vassal <br />opens the skeletal closet of history, <br />and with undue speed, her spiral she winds down, <br />between her hasty flight and the last ephemeral dance, <br />the thin clear air alight with uncertainty, <br />like the yellow electric light, flickering onto me, <br />flushing my cheeks with departure, and <br />like a silent sentinel watching over the`city, <br />from us she turns her imperial stare, <br />away from shifting kingdoms of sand, <br />and the stressed air of a brown earth, <br />the powerful wings of Pegasus carting her off, <br />as the world mourns, a broken cistern, <br />unable to contain her anymore. <br /> <br />Outside unchartered spheres of human endeavour, <br />away from the pastoral of poets, <br />the splendour of white harbours, <br />the anguish of mothers, <br />the wail of sirens, <br />the Egyptian labour of ants, <br />the caress of lovers, <br />the bleating of sheep in green pastures <br />the high laurels of learning, <br />and the decay of morals, <br />we experience the flight of angels, <br />the reverence of winged seraphims <br />the holy hush at Heaven's throne.<br /><br />ENOCH JOHN<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/time-s-departure/
