Father Time - an original poem

I ask for no intrusion,

give no welcome here.

The hour is late,

Or mayhaps not.

Time plays on in timbres unfathomed –

that orchestra of woe,

winding wood and brass face;

a metronomic bomb

swaying

back and forth;

tick-tock – from dawn of time,

back and forth,

through rhyme and minuet,

forth and back –

the pendulum chimes,

into oblivion

and…

“The End is nothing to fear,”

they say –

read the scriptures, say your prayers

and virtuous death awaits.

…funny how you live your life

believing in a lie.

I see forever now,

fading into view,

crystal clear,

variant truth –

all but a breath away.

(c) Darren Hawbrook

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