CHANGELING TIMES

as these middle years back bleed,

the rags of old memories recede

into heirlooms handed on

forged in fondness, been and gone.

no time can turn back its mistakes

or mend the piece an action breaks,

to be the way it was before

its nature changed, to less, no more-

like fragments of the whole

tapestry, that reach out to find a role

in these changeling times

of lost roots and fading lines.

a trace of old hypnotic scent

and lived in words, now cold and spent,

separate in centrifuge

of time through space and spinning blues.

the face and timbre of fate and facts

grow parallel and parallax,

when love leaves on opposite trains

in summer sun and grainy rains.

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 18th April, 2009. INSIDE OUT