time

Time: a poem

Going really fast is time.
It stops for no one.

Pulling us through our lives
by our own hair or our waists
or even just one toe,
it keeps moving and will not let go.

Cry, giggle, sleep, or daydream,
but it is steady with its ticking.

What to do?
The time will not wait
for your decision.

Please yourself or honor others?
Gain or share?
The conveyor belt keeps moving.

Regrets?
It never backs up for corrections.

 

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