I wish I knew what time was,
Because you wasted so much of mine,
I wished to replace pieces of it,
With other parts.
Is it a constant thing?
Do I move past time?
Or does time move through my body?
I can always rewind myself.
Hours and days lost in my past,
My body is the echoes of those years.
What is time?
I once promised you forever,
Yet often, completing today feels too much,
And having only yesterday is frightfully too little.
It's like sand between my fingers,
And white shading itself into my hair.
What is time?
We never seem to have much of it.
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Author:
Alyssa Willis (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 3rd, 2022 00:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments2
This is good, it’s got me examining the concept of time and it’s way to early in the morning here for that! Really like this, thanks for sharing 😁
🙂 thanks. I'm glad you like it.
'Time
is ruled, by
Perspective..'
ergo
at onset of an arduous journey
or stuck in traffic
Time, is seemingly endless
a sloth, havoc
presence
in our unbearably, stagnant existence
and then, at arrival
of our destination
or while getting in our beds
and looking at our calendars
we remark, in bewilderment
'We never seem to have much
Time...!'
lol
in the words of Sherlock Holmes
'Everything in this world is relative, my dear Watson.'
(thanks for sharing, such
a thought provoking read)
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