Drink it down
breathe it in
that succor laced with poison
turn thoughts to distractions
swallow those minutes, hours, days, years
with familiar stupor
fill those aching cracks with numbness
fill the soul with pre-digested putty
work those rote tasks
trudge that treadmill
with closed eyes
and dead intent
choke down those years
blood through the hourglass
until the hospital bed
mind grasping through encroaching emptiness
fearing those derailed ambitions of youth
all of those lost minutes
and what could have been
Lotus Dreams (a poem)