The maudlin man
Eyes straining
To pierce shadows
From apparitions summoned.
Dancing at the edge of vision
Wisps of understanding
Tantalisingly close
Continue to elude.
And the sands of time
Slip too easily past
His passive grasping.
Sitting precariously
On a precipice
Fear of the unknown taunting.
Transfixed and paralysed
Incapable of moving
Back or forth.
Caught out in a maelstrom
One that threatens
To tear asunder all opinion
That beggars no fools
But that fool is him.
This maelstrom
Of his imagination
Of his own making.
Forget me not, he prays
For he is caught in a vice
That strangles all thought
All strategies.
His life compressed
Into a single moment.
With an incredible weight
Pressing down
That increases it’s hold
With each laboured breath.
Everything depends
On his next move.
Time stands still
Every muscle tensing
Rivets of sweat
Start to flow
And pour from his brow.
He grimaces
And ultimately groans.
For his traumatised body has failed him
Taking cues from a mind
That fears to decide
For he has lingered too long.
And oh that sweet, sweet moment
That watershed moment
To change his trajectory in life
That opportunity…
Has past.
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