Time just flies, that's all you hear,
They say it flies and soars away.
And yet, it droops, heavy and grey,
When its coarse sift falls on deaf ears.
Moments temper, glass-hard and clear,
Their grains passing through, day by day
As insignificant as a passing stray
soul, whose final word draws ever near.
Alas, time only sinks, and never rises,
Ne'er pass the memories nor the now,
Only to fall from major to minor,
And the impossible flight that the norm advises
Was never more than an unattainable vow
When nobody's able to turn that timer
Upside Down.
YOU ARE READING
Songs to Ourselves
PoesíaA collection of poems that I wrote when I was bored. Don't expect it to be completed anytime soon though, I might be updating it every so often.
