In Final Minutes

The wispy wind carries the silent call- It’s time-
and he senses it within the dread building, knowing
he cannot flee; there isn’t an escape
and he must feel his way towards nothing,
welcome Death with open arms before he allows the past
to consume him in those watching minutes.

They are an eternity, such minutes,
and he questions the validity of time.
In the very leaves and roots of trees lies the past,
their wisdom but of the copses surrounding them, knowing
little of the affairs beyond their private doors, for nothing
ventures into the unknown unless there exists no escape.

Yet calmly he does not escape,
and memories and days fall like minutes,
the weeks fall like snow until they melt into nothing.

He is alone to battle out the cruelties of time,
and he detests the information now pulsing through him, knowing
neither can live, neither can survive because of the future-
and of the past.

But what is past?

Somewhere in the blurred echoes of melding memories, it escapes
him, and he feels a boy again, back to knowing
only emotions and flashes of green light, of minutes
dragging by with a mocking superiority, nudging, pushing- it’s time.

A void steals through his mind, and laid before him is nothing.
He is to die, but the swells of emotion peter out to nothing,
and he determines that soon, all will be past.
In haste, he bemoans that he has depleted time,
left behind a Horcrux to escape.


Somewhere, the wind whistles out the dying minutes,
but he surges forward, his soul knowing
that he is The Chosen One, knowing
now that it was all seemingly for nothing.

In the gloom, faces fade before him with those last minutes,
as Inferi in a glassy lake- and he does not know
if he can leave behind the past.
He looks to the misty figures ‘round him, escape
an option long lost in the reaches of time.

As if knowing the pain he bears, they bury their past,
and he with nothing accepts there is no escape.

The shadowed minutes seep into his skin, whispering, “It’s time. It’s time.

It’s time."