27 Time’s Up

Is it too late to do something?
The gift of these days, unfurling like a ribbon used to package everything up all nice and tidy,
Wasted.
Maybe that’s too harsh.
Not wasted, then, just unfulfilled.
Promises made–
Those utterances spoken only in the solitude of the soul
are broken,
and seem unimportant–
trite–
in the face of stillness and unrest.