For all its power over the past
and the present and the library vast,
the mind knew nothing.
The frustration therein was knowing
that it knew nothing.
Reality of each occurrence was already gone.
It was beyond an impression a second before.
There was nothing to grasp by the mind
of each moment – each precious incident –
to lay claim to what it was or had been.
At one critical point in this night,
the dial displayed consecutive threes.
Should the dial show anything earlier now,
then that one piece would prove false.
But, this said nothing of the other indicators.
What indicators?
Or better stated, 'indicators of what?'
That is what the mind wanted to know.
So, how could this mind inexorably fail to heed
the validity of a whistle, a siren, and an alarm?
YOU ARE READING
Warning Signs
PoetryThings go bump in the night... or did they? Are you heeding the warning signs? Tricks of the mind. Are they tricks? Or reality? That's the problem. Warning: If you're looking for a clear plot. This is not for you. Check out my other books, but not t...
