Waiting on the roadside.
What for?
To be ticked off,
Ground and minced,
A pile of drying meat
Left to rot and repel
Everyone but hungry worms
Obese, rolling heavily
Yet famished, craving flesh.
Is it worth the wait?

Don’t peer over my shoulder.
It’s just scribbles on parchment.
Worry not, it’s but a vain attempt
To halt the Time,
To pull the taut reins,
Make Her fearsome prancers
Slow their calamitous pace.

Pen is a mighty weapon, they said,
Though it shudders and falters,
Stuck in its deep inky rut,
Stubbornly staring
In the hungry, bloodshot eye
Of the merciless Unknown,
Of the ravaging horseman
Whose steed’s hooves Tick and Tock,
Over dusty cobbled paths,
While we fester and rot at the roadside.

© 2017 Erna G. – All Rights Reserved