Time Does Not Erase

Time does not erase, it etches deeper
water, wind, ripping stone, sculptor forming
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

Dreams of when I lay down with you, father, sleeper,
found your body curled, yellowed and deforming.
Time does not erase, it etches deeper.

Waking to a silent house, the passing street sweeper
a photo, yellowed like your skin, features mellowing, reforming…
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

My memory a grim, persistent bookkeeper,
etching in ink, any missed figure marked as alarming.
Time does not erase, it etches deeper.

Therapy’s costly, but alcohol’s cheaper,
momentary fading, as our belly’s warming…
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

Flail about, should you become a lighthouse keeper?
Anything to flee these long years of mourning.
Time does not erase, it etches deeper
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

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About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Death, Father, Obsession, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized, Vilanelle and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to Time Does Not Erase

  1. GinAndTulips says:

    This feels like you wrote it for me…and if you can make the audience feel that, then you must be doing something right.

  2. Martin says:

    Thanks. My annual swim in an ocean I cannot fathom.

  3. GinAndTulips says:

    Some things don’t need to be.

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