I linger in the halls of tomorrow,
wasting away the hours of today.
All is darkness here, except for
dim moonlight that seems to be
retreating. I catch a glimpse of
my dark reflection in a mirror.
The face looks old and unrecognizable.
It makes me shudder with fear.
There is a cortege of weeping women
headed back to from whence I came.
I want to ask them why they weep,
but I hold my peace, for fear it is for me.
I hear the ticking of some distant
clock, but no chime marks the hour.
I measure time solely by these words
and the benumbing of my pain.
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