Time and the Revolutionary

Time slows, the heady days distilled into crawling years

Boredom lethargically eating holes in the wall

Strands of grey hair suddenly sprout, 

Which the Revolutionary meticulously counts, languidly 

He reminisces on his youth crippled forever

on the sidewalk 

 

Slowly, as the drink slurps past his throat

A beeline for the brain, pickling his dreams and

promises preserved in alcohol

awaiting the Resurrection

Time, frail and disillusioned stubbornly refuses to move

 

The mind is marooned on an island of want

And time leisurely erodes the thoughts of escape

Morbid entertainment provided by ageless flights

of courting seagulls

They are here today and here tomorrow

 

Then Time dies naturally, euthanizing those uberous ideals

Cremation is immediate, ashes mixed with dust, wind and water

a memorial built to what could have been.

The beer bottles emptying out one after the other 

another Revolutionary defeated…