time is a winged chariot
ever since time found time to
be created, time never cease to
fleet. seconds tick into minutes,
minute tick into hours, hours make
up days. day by the day, years
come and go while I play the role
of a late comer, always behind,
playing catch up along the way.
it seems no matter what I try
time finds time to slip away.
birth would be tomorrow,
but today feels like death.
this ride from birth to death,
is yet to begin, but
i’m sore overwhelmed.
wait! i need to catch my breath!
thoughts thought upon
makes thinking a chore
like cleaning grease off silk
with sandpaper. not worse
compared to sugar ants swear
to empty the nile–the more I try
the faster time slips away
& three sixty completes another
circle abandoning me in
a paradox of dismay
time’s no poetess
her verses begets words unknown
they trap beauty in a bottle utopia
& conceal pleasure in broken vases
time is a feminist
she waits for no man
leaves wonder in wanderlust boys-
her wandering explorers
who are booby trapped
in dark vortexes & strange loops
of pendulumish merry-go-rounds
time is wild train
she can’t be stopped
her tracks run endlessly
into the cesspool of eternity
taking with her every memory
every being, everything, every story
of life
life can’t be rushed
time can’t be slowed
but
i don’t know why i try so hard to
make time find time to mark time
before another birthday come
staring at my face like
“hey, boy! catch me!”
