in Poems

To think of time

I think of time,
and how it passes
without our knowing:
one minute it’s there,
next minute it’s gone –

You try to hold on,
but again, it slips
through your fingers.
It stains the page.
It colours the years.
It wastes away.
It burdens the lightness of being.
It sings new songs,
promises new things.
Such wonder to bear it brings.
But time, it waits
for no man, for no woman,
so seize the moment,
look up
and welcome
what the new day brings.


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