Time has slipped away from my pen. It’s been lost into the ether and absent any handwritten ink. No evidence of how I think or have thought during the past twenty-two days, my brain ablaze in a muffled haze but not brain-fried or stuck in a daze.
I live in the moments between moments but ever forgetful of what must be done to completion prior to proceeding to the next bleeding endeavor. I must remember to write down this stuff and not just stuff it down or let it vanish like a memory not made.
The events of the past fastly fade away and I struggle to grasp onto the echo of the soon to be unknown only to have it eliminated by the Langoliers consuming dead hopes and future fears.
A Blooming Scribe 
Nice use of Langoliers. Is that a Stephen King reference or an actual word?
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Stephen King reference but I suppose he made it a word 😉
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I loved that story collection. Four Past Midnight, was it?
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I didn’t read it in that novella but thanks for the hint! I need to pick that up!
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Lovely poem dear, very well written. ❤️✌️
BY FOR NOW
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Really enjoyed this post. Thought provoking. The picture goes perfectly with it. -Jill
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Thanks, Jill 🙏
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You are welcome.
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