Time is something I get preoccupied by, particularly in context of how it can rule over us. I feel as if I have touched on this somewhat before, but, it’s on my mind again, so, what can I do but follow my muse? Besides, it’s been years since I did a creative word picture. It was time.πŸ˜‰

Clock can be such a cruel taskmaster,

Time a mean old woman with owlish eyes.

She clicks and clucks her tongue

And chides you to

Just get on with it,

Faster and faster…

Whatever “it” is supposed to be.

Sometimes, I know;

Sometimes, “it” is just a mystery….

Yet, somehow, the spindly hands of the


Keep on turning on,

Ticking like a bomb,

Unconcerned with my distress,

Marching on in spite of my awkward mess.

And I keep on going and going with it,

One foot upon another upon another

And another again.

Sometimes, I long to snatch the 

Tssking secondhand

And cease it to spin.

But, whoever can close fingers over a 

Single moment and seal it

Within their shaky palm?

As foolhardy a wish as reaching up and 

Restraining the strains of dawn!

No, clock shall always win out,

Time prodding us ever forward

Without regard to our doubts.

All we can do is sink in to its rushing tide,

Allow it to carry us hither and yon

And find our breaths where we can in the

Midst of its relentless stride…