It's About Time

Time ...
by virtue of your very nature

you wait for no man

jitteringly anxious – agitating for advance

irritating in your inability to sit idle

irksome, your incessant need to pace the floor

forthandback; backandforth

‘til the boards groan and squeak

the planks of this stage

grown weathered and weary

their varnish worn thin from

your too vigilant patrol

Tick ...

Constantly counting

monotonous metronome

tock-ticking spigot

whose drip-dropping dribbles

of seconds and minutes

will find no repair

forming puddles which transform

young poets and writers

to blathering old blethers

retelling – rehashing; repeating/repeating

the same tired prose

‘til their tongues turn to wood
Tock ...
idealistic youths

so energetic and vital

microscopically changed

through course of each day

to curmudgeonly crabby crusts  

of stale, inedible  bread

Tick ...

you have corroded
majestic deep purple
mystic cloud living mountains

mercilessly
ground-pulverized them to

boulders – stones - pebbles – sand
Tock ...

even our bodies, not spared the same fate

as you scrunched-hunched our very bones

to aching gnarled twigs

brittle hardened pipes

of  living cement

Time ...
onward you will steam roll
straight through; then far past me
when I will be liberated
from your infernal marching
freely floating from fetters
a fluttering bubble
drifting on the breath
of eternity's wind