Time After Time

We live on borrowed time,
a day, a moment lost
in a convoluted continuum,
living to the minimum
just to be safe.

Living less won't get you there.
There's no time bank where
you redeem mediocrity
for that One Golden Moment
of youth
or love
or the perfect vermouth
in life's Martini.

The bold move won't
guarantee the maiden, but it's worth a shot...
The meek might be waiting
a long time to inherit
what's left of the earth.

miscellany

Do we voracious readers, who live in our books, do we search for who to be, trying on fictional identities - looking for the key to ourselves? As if the key will let us into a wholly formed personality, a fully furnished room to let?