Time Poem

Time is like a serial killer
Stalking my dreams
Already aged and gray.

He never misses.  It’s only a matter of patience.
He’s never caught
Illusive as film of spirit
Or wind.

Time wears combat boots.
Bloodless armies, hard-souled
And washed unclean march

To silent drums that reckon eons.  Tap
Tap goes the beat that proves space 
The measure of man
Or heart.

Cold shadow hides the slayer
Indifferent to young hope
He lurks in bitter squall.

Winter bones grip with icy passion
And care not for yellow bud
Cool as stone
Or grave.

Time howls with windy breath
And mountains wash ashore.
His laughter is full of dust.

The hour-glass drops grains of sand
Across the dunes
Lonely grass bends
Or breaks.

Time will always have his way
My name long forgotten
Whose hand is on my shoulder?

The pendulum swings to another world.
Grandfather croons a minor song
And time is up
Or the end.
     
Alternate end: But not the end.