Nov. 12, 1998
There will be time
when you open your mouth,
and no one hears a sound,
when nothing squeezes between the long tongue,
and the thin, yellow teeth.
There will be time
when your smart, bright eyes,
now wandering through the mist,
will stare at something before you,
your life’s projection on the wall.
There will be time
when your fingers no longer brush
through that great piece of turf,
your pride’s possession, your freedom fair.
There will be time
when your hair, your freedom’s fair
will need no trim, nor shower’s gel,
and the world will sigh.
There will be time
when nothing comes into your head,
and nothing escapes out, holding
all the unspoken forever locked.
There will be time
when a touch of your skin won’t feel,
when cold or hot will not matter,
and a final wash shall grant you an alabaster shine.
There will be time
when you open little mouth
for that last tedious argument,
and those syncopated sighs,
will turn into a one last pause.