amber and crimson
crisp, crackling conflagration
tickling spires of gold
Time exists on the edge of reality
where it is always twilight
and sits on a rock, stargazing
watching you
and watching me
Time hides on the edge of tangibility
waiting for the unwary
behind his rock, smiling
dark, toothless prodigy
Time laughs from the edge of his own sanity
wild-eyed, white-knuckled madman
waiting and hiding and laughing
watching you
and watching me
(I told you it was small! Once I find all the scraps of paper I've written my poetry on over the last, say, ten years or so, there'll be more...)
