without splendor in the grass
there's time for time to pass
so who really comes in last
when you're going nowhere fast
always running in our circles
in the patterns of our days
always winding in our own little lives
so absorbed within ourselves
like molasses in a bottle
tipped over to drain out
at its slow melodic pace
our hours upon our days
went by in blurry faze
finding each other
once more at the start
so is the rushing really worth
the price we have to pay
the lives we waste away
on our worldly trifle things
for that is the world we live in
a world always running
never stopping
always, for
without splendor in the grass
there's time for time to pass
so who really comes in last
when you're going nowhere fast
YOU ARE READING
If Life Was Like a Poem
PoetryA collection of various poetry works written from 2012--present
