What Time..

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
silly concept, time..but apparently, thats all we have.

Submitted: June 06, 2008

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Submitted: June 06, 2008

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It becomes an obsession,

Time.

You can’t stop saying the word,

Thinking of how little there is.

When it hits you,

From nowhere,

It’s surprisingly painful.

Knowing.

As time clicks by on clocks,

Digital, water resistant clocks,

We live,

We die.

Every second we live and die,

And love,

We never see again,

Those exact seconds,

For time ticks and tocks onward.

Can time hold still,

For anything?

No, I believe not,

But the boundaries of time,

Endless.

Or rather, what you can do in time.

That is Endless.

So is time,

A willing contribute to our love?

Or, is it that enemy,

That steals it all,

Away?

It becomes an obsession,

Time.

An even bigger obsession,

Where it goes,

And why do we have it,

Now?


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