Rivers of Time

I am the candle that lights the darkness,

The boy running amok amongst his misty corridor,

The candle shards waving goodbye to strangers left in dust;

The hours that fade, as the sunrise must.

I am the hooves of antalopes, parading in the sand,

I am never going home again, to where the magic wand stands;

Giving up the shelter, for foreign forests must come;

Standing alone beneath an umbrella, in the tornado of the storm.

I speak in riddles I myself do not understand;

I change with the fashion of the seasons, and become another man.

Going home, where no one knows me, for the light I am;

And secrets flutter incandestently between conversations,

Like the sunrise appearing on the table, in intermittent constellations.

Forgive me father, for I cannot speak;

I am not done doing the time that I keep.

I am the answer that rushes like the wind through closing doors;

I am falling to my knees, before the world’s most beautiful whore;

A truth that has not spoken, since we were reincarnated, before, before, before.

I am the eclipsing moon, on the auburn African shores;

The arrival of a rebirth, a shipwreck stranded in paradise’s core.

I was left before my last words were spoken, or my hand could clutch;

And did not ever end speaking to myself, of that sweetening touch;

And did not finish changing to what has always awoken;

But is still doing time, in prisons of rhyme, to melt that desirous token.