fait accompli

I am searching for sympathy in sound

but sometimes
even truth cannot unveil
the complexity
of initial intent

and I hate the seconds, minutes
turning into hours and days

weeks and months
become eventually years
of expectations

whispers fade
and memory recreates
a different, bearable story;
but, ending always in finding
what we cannot grasp

this cycle encircles us again
and again
until every moment of slumber is welcome:
close me in to forget

a synchronised drumming
turning fractions into fractures
in hours, days and months
...
of racing up that slope

where we are always one second too-late in time
desire is a blinding eye to the die
that's been already cast

so haunt me,
but I will fight your expectations
that when we finally start meeting,
will stop beating
one second, too fast



.