Time is running out,
in slivers, quite volatile.
Flecks of sand flying downcast,
down the hourglass,
beneath your tongue's wit.
Seconds are parting from you,
one by one, tick-tock-tick.
Minutes and hours and days, they have their own will;
you're in shackles to that.
So free yourself of time,
ignore it, deny it.
Date Written: February 17, 2013
YOU ARE READING
All Things Poetry
RandomJust a compilation of the poems I save throughout the years. Sadly, the ones from when I was much younger was lost. I wish I'd published them.
