Time

Time, and how we can never grasp onto it.

Time.

What a priceless thing.

Never to be captured or restrained.

Never to be taught or tamed.

So much like a raging beast,

Its claws ripping apart all in its path.

It's a heartless being.

One that cares not for anyone.

It'll stare at you with its sinister eyes,

Feeding off  your bliss.

But time is quite like water.

Spilling between your fingers.

It chooses its path,

And will turn its back on you when you really need it.

Its gaze lacks any warmth.

As does its touch.

But it will give you a soft smile,

As in its hands, is your heart.

Author's Note

Not much to explain about this one...

Just comment your reviews :)

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

I love the eloquent description of dichotomy of the faces of time in this poem. Cruel and kind. "And in its hands, is your heart"- and so the mortal blow. Well-done!

[Li Yan]

thank you very much! I see what you mean, the entire poem presents time as something bitter and harsh, but in the last stanza this representation is contrasted which all together gives the reader a sense of mortality. :)