25 March 2020

Tempus Fugit

By Bud Koenemund

In consciousness rises the poet’s plight:
Cursed with knowing time is fleeting; slipping
Past; each moment another dying light;
As, from our birth, those flames are flickering.
Days lost become years; progressing quickly,
Faded and forgotten; surrendered to
Accelerating relativity,
‘Fore the call of skills neglected renews.
Imagination yearns for expression,
And – as this journey hastens toward its end –
A stab at immortality; Passion
Racing the doom we cannot comprehend.
   Crafting perfection is my endeavor;
   Some scrap of verse that will live forever.