On
the walls the hands that barely move
Solitary
focus for each and every day
Gaze
that’s cast upon each passing movement
Watching
time explode and waste away
Another
wasted moment leaves the room
Disappears
without direction, lacking reason
And
with every other second in the day
Act
out existence in a lonely act of treason
Measuring
its journey through its sweeping
Daily
life dictated by the turning of its hands
Eyes
that stare silently to space in desperation
Scenes
lies beyond the windows lost in yearning
Every
breath that pauses in its path
Witnessed
by the eyes of stagnant life
Vacant
as the days drift into nothing
As
distant as the dawns which fall and rise
The
stasis of the moment floating freely
Expectations
hanging heavy in the air
Plans
and circumstances not forthcoming
Delayed
decisions taunt with timed delay
Pregnant
pause explodes with sad admission
Hands
sweeping now into their resting place
Their
stopping point, a place in constant motion
Spun
upon a point in stagnant space
Lights
that dim upon another day
Closing
out the avenues to hope
Once
again the doors are closed to answers
No
deliverance this day just like the last
Laboured
soul lies bleeding on the bed
Invisible,
unsighted to his fate
Truth
tethered and held back at a distance
Act
of mercy comes for one too late
©
Fergus Martin
Nov
2013
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