by Angie Jenkins
Days turn to
Hours turn to
Pausing...a gasp of air...
The cycle repeats itself.
How long before no breaths are left to redeem
And life's withering flame
Can no longer be rekindled?
Which to go by? The months? The days?
They cackle in spiteful arrogance
For only they discern the number of ticks and tocks of the clock
Before it is too late to depend on second chances.
Oh the audacity of man, to think that wasted time is time well spent
When the second hand is drawing swiftly to its end.
Posted on 10/12/2010
Copyright © 2023 Angie Jenkins
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by V. Blake on 10/12/10 at 04:52 AM|
"Days turn to
Hours turn to
Seconds." Interesting take on this--reducing infinite expanses to moments, rather than expanding in the opposite direction.
|Posted by Therese Elaine on 10/12/10 at 04:58 AM|
Reverse the law of cause and effect, until the effect of seconds past causes gasping pleas for last-minute reprieves, time is merciless in it's unceasing plodding, never in a hurry to get anywhere, while we scramble around trying to beat its odds...really nicely done, Angie.
|Posted by Anita Mac on 10/12/10 at 11:01 PM|
I suppose the question is how you define time wasting... This is very well done. The beginning cannot help but instill anxiety for what is to come.
|Posted by Jody Pratt on 01/26/12 at 05:40 AM|
"Life is not about the moments in a day,
but the moments that take your breath away."
(and every moment I spend with you leaves me breathless)... I'm not sure if that last part is from the original quote, but I think it's romantic.