Tending The Flame (Poetry)

Oh yes, my God, I’m set to rage all right
fiercely-loud against oncoming night
I am not done — so much is left to say
and little time before the close of day

Who made the clock — designed its smirking face
that mocks me and reminds I can’t keep pace?
The more I rush, the more I fall behind
and things I should do quietly slip my mind ...

Those poets I befriended long ago
have left me words of truth so I would know
all is not lost — their spirit rules the page
I should not fret — give way to pointless rage

And yet I curse each dimming of the light
ignore all else, stoke up the fires, and write ...