Out of Time

Are we just too late? Has our ship sailed to another destination?
I scan the horizon and see the fading remnants of it steam trail.
Did it just never really begin? Has that train left the station?
I hear the fading echos of it’s lonely call as it passes beyond view.

I reach out to touch you. To feel you. To hold you,
But all I get is anachronistic affection.
Your embrace feels like a holographic hug of programmed response,
Leaving me weighted and wanting as I wander. To ponder this space.

Is that the setting sun or just my eyes closing one final time?
Hoping that memories and dreams both fade in the grey of forever,
I’ll let those waters rise and cover me in silent sorrow
As I watch my empty, outstretched hand grasping only at ghosts.


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