PAD Challenge Day 30: today’s prompt, write a “calling it a day” poem
The outer edge of almost night etches skylines of dark on
light
Its chief appointment of mere air defeats determination’s stare
And we cannot bond to our touch the hour ere time’s quiet
clutch
Reclaims its gasp of gifted grace into that phantom holding
place
Of history and memory and all that nevermore will be
We are its troubadours where Want’s storehouse of thought
implores
To minute-hand and moment-sphere and season’s spitting year
on year
This doggerel twixt life and death impresses to each granted
breath
The Imminence of recompense trembling in Time’s deliverance
Of black and white and almost night before that first and
final Flight
We simply call it Night and Day; this dallying on Life’s
highway
Leads not to tombs or holding rooms; its smattering of
broken blooms
A testament of greed and need and Mercy for which all men
plead
As we tread more than moment-lore to that supreme, Ultimate
Door
…how gossamer Time’s gilded string links eons to each
evening
© Janet Martin
I was suddenly struck by a surge of Time; its breadth designed
in morning prayer and breakfasts where
children leave out-grown shoes behind...
