The dead are calling. They sit on their headstones
Like grotesque, heckling gargoyles.
They yell at me, I have no time,
I am alone in this, no one can help me
As wolves unfold among the sheep,
White as a bridal gown.
I seal them in under black, thick tar,
In a shoebox, do not let them sniff me out,
Chase me down before I run out,
Time cannot protect me, it is not my friend,
But I know I will win in the end,
And I will go when I will go, before time defeats me.
Too much left to do, to write,
The things that keep me here, I know they wait
For my decision, my choice.
They try to distract me with thick fog and hope I go missing,
But what they are missing is what I can do best,
Navigate in darkness and invisible places.
I know they have a place prepared for me,
They like to think of me as family,
A place where everything is red and black,
They think it scares me more than where I am
Already now, it makes me laugh,
And all I think is 'not just yet'.
Jan Hauck's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Against Time by Jan Hauck )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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