There won’t be time

For any more visions or revisions.

The women didn’t help.

The smoke didn’t help.

The tea didn’t 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 won’t be time

To judge, or to be judged.

Anymore.

There will not be time.

So get used to it.

Billy Collins