serving time

so subtle are the handcuffs of time

that I hardly recognized their binding effect

the hands of a clock

are hands on my wrists

and before I catch my footing

I’m caught in the present

locked into this one, unfamiliar road

the road less traveled

is a road for the mighty

but I’m not mighty

sometimes I’m just driftwood

headed for shores unknown

headed for truths unknown

headed for it

but not ready

and when was I ever ready?

when did I stumble into this policy

of uncertainty?

how often does the light of day

discourage the soothing dreams of night?

every day

and every day after that day

these shackling certainties are difficult

to reflect on

so I stare carelessly into the mirror

to find someone serving time

and yet hoping it’s not me