My Toll

The hands of time merge on some hour, no longer moving so lazily, but mind's not rushed, tends to come at it's own pace. Once life with fury filled me, a sleepless wonderland thrilled me. Now in the silence, these old nights will bury all but the moment's marks. And draped in a cloak of darkness, with moonlit patchwork, are the sad places where once, I might have wept, now no more than an instance, a passing thought. But always these currents take me away, to that which by trouble's so eagerly brought. To those corroding tides, my eternal toll. Will peace ever come, when again the parts won't add up to make a whole.