Time, The Thief.

                       Time. The thief.

   Who was it?  Who said, “Time is a thief”?
   Who cares! Who cares? It’s my belief,
   that time steals much more than everyone’s looks.
   Even more than all the lazy writers books,
        Never printed onto paper, leaf by leaf by leaf.
   That’s my belief.

        Time, that steals the timid hearted lover’s love,
        who waits and holds his heart, inside his sleeve,
        hoping for a message that he’s approved,
        never realising that she is waiting for a sign of
        his affection, before she commits herself to love.
       That’s my belief.

       Time always passes as contradiction of its’ need allows.
       It holds no favours in its’ movement through the hours.
      To the waiting lovers, there seems too much future.
      To both, lost within each other’s arms, time is too soon fled.
      This is what is ever said. Time will steal, while you’re abed.
      That’s my belief.

      All those who sleep, too long, inside their sheets of white,
      Find they have no time to complete the tasks they’re given.
      That demon time took control of their unwaking plight,
      and stole the thing that cannot be repeat; took one riven
      minute from the next and caste them into the yesternight   
      That’s my, unending, belief.