T.I.M.E. (The Infinite Measure Extinguished)
Wiping off the crud from my dish
'til that sparkle once lost returns
so I can see my withered reflection
& put it away for another day.
Time waits for nothing when it draws
the sand up from your hand & out
glass each hour allowed to expire
without acknowledgement of worth.
Don't steal this precious currency from me
when every time I close a lid,
my children are bigger
& eventually won't need my hand.
We all want to live forever,
but what does forever mean
when everything you need
is always out of reach?
More articles by Tim Heerdink →
More articles in the poetry genre →
The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.