Time keeps ticking away, my life gets older,
Even though black don't crack,
I feel the time just ticking away.
Time keeps moving from me, seeping from my pores,
My wishes and dreams are like impossible tasks not stretching over the sands of lands that I may never visit,
Or tongues I will never master,
Time steals my beauty, peace and hope,
Time is like a thief in the night
filling me with fright,
Leaving me cold in the heart that once burned with enthusiasum.
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I really enjoyed this.
You remind me of a poet by the name of Wilderness who once frequented these pages. She also has a very gut-wrenching way of writing that reaches deep into the soul and pulls empathy from the reader. That is a quality I most admire and enjoy in a writer, the ability to emote feeling.
In regard to this poem, I do most certainly identify with your words. I am thirty-four now and though still full of life, I feel the ebb of time. I can no longer move quite as fast or jump quite as high as I used to. Recovery takes a bit longer now from injury as well. Also, I had much more planned with my life than where I am presently at. I am doing well, but not doing what I wanted to be doing career wise. I am on a different path altogether. But every day I renew my resolve and do believe that in time I will achieve my goals.
I hope your enthusiasm is sparked once more. There are those much older who burn with it; I look to them for inspiration. Frank Lloyd Wright, my career hero from my youth, started his career as a world-class architect rather late in life. And frankly, he kicked ass and influenced generations with his designs and thinking. I keep holding out hope and looking to the future. Would that it last long enough to achieve.
I enjoyed this lament and felt it very touching.
Al
language: 5, rhythm: 4, subject: 5, tone: 5, form: 4.
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Time keeps ticking away...
Time is a great subject for a poem. And it all boils down on how you look at time. “Time keeps moving from me, seeping from my pores,” My favorite line.
Bill
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