“Later,” I heard you say.
Turning, you walked down the dark lane.
I watched as the numbers on the clock changed,
eating minutes, hours, days.
Years went by,
then, “Soon,” you cried,
and turned to walk again down the dark lane.
Your last word was “Tomorrow,”
spoken with confidence and hope.
I reached for you,
crying, “Today, please, today,”
but you turned away
to take one last walk down the dark lane.
Your clock stopped,
leaving memories of a lost embrace,
the deathly echo of a promise made too late,
and nightmares of a dark lane.
In memory of all the lives which have been stolen by addiction.
The Daily Post #Later
©Jane Paterson Basil