Marya Zilberberg writes in Massachusetts. This is how she describes herself: “By day I am a health services researcher, but by night (OK, sometimes by day too) I dabble in writing.” You can read more of her writing at her blog. Here, Marya builds her poem around the ironic central phrase “killing time.” The language displays emotion ranging from regret to acceptance, the experience for the reader includes discomfort but allows for reflection.
Killing Time
By Marya Zilberberg
By Marya Zilberberg
I thought that I was killing time,
But it was killing me.
I thought my life would go on,
But that was not to be.
The ancient steady quill of fate
Dipped in its urn of ink
Penned a red trail across my name,
An arrow pointing me away
In blood-encircled ring.
I thought that I would once again
Behold the crescent’s shine.
That fragrant flowers of spring,
The pussy willow and the rain
Would all again be mine.
That I would have the chance once more
To taste the briny air
And feel your kisses on my skin
And see another day begin.
Alas, time did not care.
And now I’m finished killing time.
And wrapped in time’s old cloak
In calm eternity I swim,
Suspended animation dream.
Reality revoked.
But do not mourn for me, my friend,
I’ve had my fill of time.
The silver compass marks the twelve,
My book lies closed on the shelf.
Eternity is mine.
I do like the irony, and yes, it is delightful.