There wonít be time

 

For any more visions or revisions.

 

The women didnít help.

The smoke didnít help.

The tea didnít help, though I thought that might.

The questions just kept piling up.

The pounds came and went.

The toast.

Unanswered.

 

Who are you going to meet?

 

The yellow smoke may be the end,

People say.

Behind window-panes,

People murder, or create.

 

But there wonít be time

To judge, or to be judged.

Anymore.

 

There will not be time.

So get used to it.

 

Billy Collins