Thoughts as Poetry

Time

I hate the way time slips through my grasping fingers,

Telling me defiantly it can't be held,

If I could I'd like to be stuck in a moment,

Once would be enough

For me to realize I need the passing,

It mends my scars

I hate the way seconds are ticking,

Calling me in a mocking way,

They know how much I want them to stop,

But they march onwards

Knowing it just as well as I;

Time is what I need to heal.

The minutes laugh as I spend them,

Use them for petty things,

Then they slip away,

Die within the count of sixty,

At least I live longer than that,

But it feels like a whir.