We’re out of time,
past the hour when clocks expire.
We’re out of time,
beyond this moment’s final chime.
We can exist, if we desire,
right now – and never age or tire.
We’re out of time.
We’re out of time.
When the last flame has left the fire
we’re out of time.
In desperation, on we climb,
the dreams to which our hearts aspire
still waiting, listening to that liar:
we’re out of time.
We’re out of time,
past all that counting, muck and mire.
We’re out of time,
Where all the world exists in rhyme
and we can join in with the choir,
with nothing left us to acquire:
we’re out of time.
26 Jun 2025
© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.
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