The Hours
Ahh, life. Such a horror show attempting to cut it short.
Long after crossing the crepuscular
The sweetest colors of the change brilliant and deep
The hours of which darkness's swallow becomes sure
A simple look to the rearview reveals what we reap
--
For some a day of wonder and delight
Exploring their adventures and all new things
Resting down their heads at night
Dreaming of tomorrow and their new beginnings
--
So lucky are they, that it does not come
Alone, they are left for now
Such luck is not to be for some
Some live on the opposite side of the coin, and how
--
For the unlucky it does come with the nightfall
It's rhythmic sounds unearable to most
Their souls to be put through something dark and frightful
Facing off with the power of the one mightiest ghost
--
Haunted by its ever growing approach they are
Upon light they'll force on their masks and go on to feel the sun
The thing hunting them never away by very far
When darkness falls they find themselves again wondering if they're done
--
That feel of the coldness rests upon their shoulder so clear
An icy cold grip holding onto their souls, never letting go
Fight on and try they will, try ever so hard to push it to their rear
For not all will go fast, but they'll go they all know
--
Some are lucky to be ignorant of all things in the darkness of missing light
The sounds of lions roars turning to near silent whimper and nary a sigh
Even the strongest of souls is born of only so much fight
And it is the guarantee of man to pay taxes and to die
--
The rythmic sound of the clock grows weak
The pains of time have grown their powers
Despite all the fight it feels so bleak
Robbed by disease, you're cut short your limited hours
The end...?
Thanks for reading my poem. This came to me in the dead of night, a night filled with pain, as I laid alone and suffering. I'm past the 2/3 point of what was a three year prognosis when I found out I had cancer, still saying F that, but sometimes wondering. As the pains in my body remind me I had a very serious brush with cancer, on a night like this, this poem came to me.
About the Creator
Jason Ray Morton
Writing has become more important as I live with cancer. It's a therapy, it's an escape, and it's a way to do something lasting that hopefully leaves an impression.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
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Rachel Reviews: The Spiral Archive by Pieter Hendrik
It's difficult for me to know where to start with a review of this book as it was, for me, an entirely unique experience and one that I'll probably never have again. I don't want that to be interpreted as unenjoyable but it has left me scratching my head a little and ruminating on its content, its themes and its characters.
By Rachel Deemingabout 20 hours ago in BookClub
Comments (1)
This is brilliant, Sir. Learning your situation at the end-- your fight with cancer-- gives it context and greater weight. It seems to me that often the greatest insights and inspiration come in the wee hours of the night, when our brains are tired and receptive. Some of the rhymes here are surprising too. I don't see 'crepuscular' much. Also-- the title has subtle brilliance. Often 1 or 2 word titles have little meaning or impact. If Vocal puts numbers on the url, you know that title is used a lot! I try to avoid that, personally. But in this instance, the title finds its weight *after* reading the poem. You are a consummate poet. Many Blessings & much healing energy to you. ⚡️💙 Bill⚡️