It Is Time Poem by Brian Routh

It is time to move amongst the bushes
to isolate the rooms
close up the gaps
out from the lapse.

forget the clouds that gloomily hang
around the centres
stopping the breath from freely passing.
to be alone as we all must be
in birth and death
no holding of hands
or clinging to mother.

it is time for me to be
to check myself alone
within the spaces of walking
through the avenues of trees
that bend their branches
their children leaves richly green
drinking mother's milk
detaching themselves and falling to the ground.

agonising moments of heart's despair
in air
on ground
to breathe a sound
alone in darkness
hollow sound
echoing back to sender.

remember the passion
of the garden dreams
wearing ceremonious garments
the making of vows
God, esteem and glory
out from it
away
free
has to be
all will wither
no more sound.