The Beloved - Musings from Future regret
I am future
staring down the telescope lens of time.
The small lens way at the other end
pin points this moment in time, when
I could have changed,
fate could have claimed
a sweeter destiny for
the beloved. I try to shout
through the lens to the other side of time,
but nobody can hear me or see me
It's as if I'm not there
As though I am ethereal
a spectre.
Through the small lens of time,
a slightly greying father,
sad, uncertain;
with mere moments left to choose,
grips and holds fast
a stubborn vision of old,
believing his grip is strong enough
to elude and evade
future; he will win with his quiet authority,
ruled by respectability
and what should be.
On my side of the long space between us,
I know
there are only a few hours, mere moments,
left to him before two points meet
in time. Where what will be
and what could be are in his hands.
I am flailing my arms but the man,
a father, on the other end of time
can't see me. He hears nothing
but his own locked thought
The odds are growing less with every tick,
a clock somewhere in the distance
sounds its warning,
like a train in the distance.
The paths are getting closer,
closer, wheels rumbling,
the gap narrowing
between two points,
a cross roads where destiny
and fate wait.
as the man chooses I watch, regret washing over me, as
a father makes his choice.
He believes he can save his vision of me, future,
by shunting his beloved
to a side path, to deal with later.
He shoots past the moment
pin pointed, marked in the eternal
wage of war between fate and time.
He leaves beloved on a separate path
alone.
As he chooses his and beloved's future,
the kaleidescope clockwork spins,
gears shift, cog wheels lock in place.
There, an old man
bent with time,
ponders a single moment
his choices; how he lost beloved.
The beloved he shunted away
so long ago, to preserve
the ungraceful respectability
of a father's false dignity is
lost to him with his irreversible
choice;
denial.
I scream as time unfolds,
I am the lone witness,
the severing of a world from a world.
I weep with inarticulate fury at my own
inability to prevent
disaster cunningly wrought
for beloved, stranded
on a side path long ago,
to be dealt with later
abandoned and alone.
staring down the telescope lens of time.
The small lens way at the other end
pin points this moment in time, when
I could have changed,
fate could have claimed
a sweeter destiny for
the beloved. I try to shout
through the lens to the other side of time,
but nobody can hear me or see me
It's as if I'm not there
As though I am ethereal
a spectre.
Through the small lens of time,
a slightly greying father,
sad, uncertain;
with mere moments left to choose,
grips and holds fast
a stubborn vision of old,
believing his grip is strong enough
to elude and evade
future; he will win with his quiet authority,
ruled by respectability
and what should be.
On my side of the long space between us,
I know
there are only a few hours, mere moments,
left to him before two points meet
in time. Where what will be
and what could be are in his hands.
I am flailing my arms but the man,
a father, on the other end of time
can't see me. He hears nothing
but his own locked thought
The odds are growing less with every tick,
a clock somewhere in the distance
sounds its warning,
like a train in the distance.
The paths are getting closer,
closer, wheels rumbling,
the gap narrowing
between two points,
a cross roads where destiny
and fate wait.
as the man chooses I watch, regret washing over me, as
a father makes his choice.
He believes he can save his vision of me, future,
by shunting his beloved
to a side path, to deal with later.
He shoots past the moment
pin pointed, marked in the eternal
wage of war between fate and time.
He leaves beloved on a separate path
alone.
As he chooses his and beloved's future,
the kaleidescope clockwork spins,
gears shift, cog wheels lock in place.
There, an old man
bent with time,
ponders a single moment
his choices; how he lost beloved.
The beloved he shunted away
so long ago, to preserve
the ungraceful respectability
of a father's false dignity is
lost to him with his irreversible
choice;
denial.
I scream as time unfolds,
I am the lone witness,
the severing of a world from a world.
I weep with inarticulate fury at my own
inability to prevent
disaster cunningly wrought
for beloved, stranded
on a side path long ago,
to be dealt with later
abandoned and alone.
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