the time
the time
once there was time but today time has become short
minutes winding always down the clock spring loosens
idle hours were whiled away the ships moored in port
seconds to discard and drown yet not really gruesome
wishing time away or a life hurrying towards the future
from the past that is known into a swirling sea of hope
where eternal confusion is rife innocence turns mature
and beauty is cut to the bone falling down time’s slope
waste accumulates hoarded unable to discard the rot
collect carcasses scrapes and dreams in groaning piles
remember memories distorted clinging to those fraught
echoes of the rapes and screams surviving time’s trials
measure the forgotten thoughts down to one single hair
untie the ancient tangled knots yet finding the attic bare