This is a poem I wrote a while back when I was still at my best as far as writing

TIME

A tender woman, time is– To so casually deceive; So much she seems to love you Then she robs you and she leaves–

She's yours alone, this hour, And she's never here again– Her words resound with power So honeyed, yet so sour

You love her when she's yours You love her when she's gone But you'll never see her face, Or ever meet her gaze–

You'll see that she's a maze, A labyrinth with no end; You know not where it starts And you know not if it ends,

The surreal appearance that deceives, You can't lose yourself within; Really really large, but really still so thin As it guides you by your ears

With her din of falling tears, Shrieking loud within– And marking passing years Crying out, crying, crying: SIN! SIN! Oh the sin!

And you cannot hear your thoughts And you cannot see the path, Blinded in the labyrinth Forced to face its wrath

A dampened swathe– Your clothes are soaked– flames are stoked, voracious And all of time's forgotten

Like a little dream A sickly thought, Sickly, and core-rotten– Yet; so easily... forgotten

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