Ribbon of My Years

Some days ... all I want ... or long to do?
Hide away,  meditate,  reveling in quiet solitude
Pen shaping words,  or notes ... breathed gently
Stirring sweetly , taking form within my
Soul's waiting chamber.
Yet, this Alien,
This resident invader ... this Monarch of   "Success"
Punches me!  Up and out!
To march to her drum beat!
Days filled with duties ...
Performed by rote,  staining at the harness;
All the while a river of silent current calls ...
Constantly whispering ... ebbing neathe the day.
To realize a week has gone by ...
Fearfully startled for a blank moment;
Straining to recall one golden hour of joy.
Seven days ... sadly swallowed in a vacum.
I count my hours
Like dollars earned ... then squandered
With frantic sadness ... realizing
The purse I carry is growing lighter
And,  I'm too fearful to count
The remainder of my sum.
Each frantic day ... pulses with Duty's cadence,
Welding her relentless shear ...
Ever slashing , ever snipping
Cutting short ...
The Ribbon of my years.

Dallas Beth Williams Gibson


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