The measurement of time is a fiction,
but still you’re always late.
I measure it by loud heartbeats;
one, two, three, four…
If you’re not here,
yours must have ceased to beat
surely?
How do you measure it?
Alarms,
ticking,
brash bells,
constant clanging,
all nerves frazzled,
everything a rude race,
battling time,
crushing it (&
my heart)
with pounding footsteps, late
for yet another date.
Relationships can’t be measured in time;
if they were, you would never be mine
-
Author:
rebmasters (
Offline) - Published: July 26th, 2021 05:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
Offline)
Comments3
The pained hope in the poem was very nice.
'Pained hope' is a wonderful almost oxymoron. Thank you very much my dear
Good write, R.M.
Thank you my friend ❤️
I had a friend once who set their watch 10 minutes early, so they could leave on time and never be late! Cheers
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