the day of reckoning

there is a day of reckoning for me

when once a year i turn my face to see

my mirror image searching for a sign

of wisdom, or of victory over time

i think of all the songs I’ve left unsung

and reach for my imaginary gun

i hold the trigger, raise it to my head

imaginary blood runs cherry red

i look on each mistake i made in turn

as pages of a book i'd gladly burn

the ones i loved who vanished without trace

i rue their loss, i envy their escape

the things we say and do all turn to dust

but till we go they cling like bitter rust

no slate is cleaned, no page returns to white

what’s hidden may go up like dynamite

another year of treasure lies adrift

the silver tarnished black, the velvet ripped

i look around for someone i can blame

the mirror gently mouthing back my name

there is no force of karma here on earth

no prize to honour modesty or worth

poetic justice sometimes by a fluke

provides a secret laurel or rebuke

the metronome swings quicker every time

and when it stops no silver bells will chime

at lento it could trace a graceful arc

at presto now it gallops toward the dark

when love presents a choice of road to take

the hard, the easy way;  the true, the fake

the easy falls apart around the bend

the hard is true but hard until the end

 a father looks with pride upon his sons

the only thing worth doing that he's done

his hope for them is equal to his fear

for them he prays to gods that cannot hear

there is a day of reckoning for me

when once a year i turn my face to see

my mirror image searching for a sign

of wisdom, or of victory over time

written by tom yates 26 october 2015