Time is a funny thing
Only not in a humorous way.
Time slips by and drags on
But never changes its pace.
Hangs on my left wrist
So easy to throw, yet it controls me.
Lingering with every painful flick
Of a battery powered splinter.
Time rests on my bookshelf
Lurking in my restless nights.
Punctuates my pulse with uncertainty
In the soft silence of my pillow.
Strengthens the invisible bond
Between two sisters among many.
While stabbing at the emptiness
Caused by my own betrayal.
Time stares me in the face
From the mirror on the wall.
The minute hand spins slowly forward,
I must move on.
simone said,
April 11, 2009 at 9:24 pm
hello i like your blog don