Apr 5
On slow days, and fast years,
It's a comfort to know,
That Time doesn't falter.
He is steady and paced.
Never late, or breaking into a sprint.
Nor does he stroll by and watch the birds,
Lapels blowing in a slight breeze,
Musky scent entices all manner of passerbys.
None quite daring enough to get a taste.
It's a comfort to know,
That Time is mine to conquer alone.
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Poetry For The Lost People
Poetry365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
