A distant time
and place.
Now—
what can be said?
What time has passed?
But there they are,
still poker-faced,
red—
and I,
living with the dead.
Red-hot poles
point accusingly.
What time has passed?
A life,
no more—
buried below
in the lush, green flow.
They do not forget.
They whisper to me:
What time has passed?
We know what you have done.
Below
the red-hot sun.
I stand now accused
of the hideous act.
What time has passed?
It’s just a moment
in the sun.
Still
they prod
and poke
my heart.
But I was a child—
so much time has passed.
What time has passed?
My heart
will not forget.
There is no time,
yet there is
still regret.