Text

Was this the Time that passed me by?
With grave eyes, secret smiles that taste
of bitter hopes. A question why
I chose her, stilted talks, her haste.
And wasted too many a year
with lies that shine, they come and sit
silent, serpentine bits of fear.
She will never be mine to fit,
slow, in a box with blood and dirt,
a tomb. A place in which she will
never depart. Why plan her hurt?
She, Time, has left me full of ill
feelings and tired. Her sly eyes ropes,
her snort, judgment, taking my hopes.