A man walked in measure gait
step by step down a crowded hall
all manner of scenes unfolding around him
faces, places, names and time
In solemn dance, pantomime the faded moments of what once were.
Upon the wall, straight ahead, the wall clock ticked in rhythm with each step
Counting down the seconds till the hands would rest at twelve, and never tick again.
One step more, one tick toward the final stroke we walk together.
First he passes scenes he knows, but till just before had forgotten.
Faces look with blank stares,
eyes so familiar,
but names that can’t be recalled
the faces form a sea beside him, waving in symmetry against the tide of the clock.
With each step more faces turn, and spirits walk away
The thinning crowd comes to be replaced with scenery, trees with names, fields with stories
Beautiful and ordinary
He lingers here with eyes piercing, drinking in every drop his memory can savor
his eyes latching upon each rock and blade or grass
each with a hundred memories
each memory with a memory
But the clock counts down.
With so much to see we need more time, the one thing we cannot hope to gain.
Despite himself, he wanders on – further down this relentless hall toward the beating clock
As the scenes fade away his eyes linger last on a pair of eyes looking back
the only eyes in the sea that look his way
They hold a moment longer
Clinging back as the man holds on.
Next he comes upon a room with action under way.
His family sits at a table weighted down with food, with drink, with conversation
Bellies swell as they fill with food and laughter
Chairs dance from spot to spot as guests maneuver up and down the sides of the table following the conversation.
Eyes upon each other, no one notices as he walks by a careful opening
a slit through with the sound is like an explosion
a symphony
clicking and ticking in meter with the clock, reminding the man to take one more step
relentless
one more step.
Further still a new scene plays
but how to describe what he sees?
Nothing familiar about this room
Nothing known within it.
Colors, shapes, sounds, light
Bleeding, pounding, beating
fresh, new, unexpected and unknown
their rhythm veers from all familiarity
their colors excite with fresh, unwitnessed anticipation
this overload of noises and sights
Drink it in
Soak it in
Breathe it in
Eyes witness all you can see
Don’t blink! Don’t turn! Don’t sneeze! Don’t miss!
Each step relentless
Each step in time
Each step stealing precious moments
A chance of something to see
A chance of something to hear.
Pressing pause has no effect
Pausing step has no effect
the ticking still is ticking now
the hands inch closer to their destination.
Stop or walk?
The better choice?
What scene is best to play again?
What step is best to linger
when the hands of time are certain?
The horrid hall, or spinning room
either way disorient, confuse and fluster
all that is known is time is ending
the countdown has begun.
Which direction does he more;
or does he stand, there in the middle
directionless?
Life In Hyperbole 