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Showing stories tagged with #time-metaphor Clear filter
My get up and go, has got up and went; Working 'til I drop. The never ending cycle of living, whenever will it stop. The winds of change blow upon my face, Teasing me with fresh delights.
Chronicide;. Killing time with evil eyes. And fingers made from seconds past,. Hands sucking minutes from my life,. Face white and drained, cannot rewind,. To memories of the early hours.
Running from the past, But it's too close behind, It's there to save you, trying to change your mind. Look into past's mirror To see what's been done.
It's crushing down my shoulders, It's thrashing on my door, It's jabbing every muscle, And it's making sure I'm sore.
Seconds in their fractions upon fractions do not stop and think of how fast a minute of the hour go by,.
I stare forever at the hour glass figure Watching time in grains of sand disappear My mind wanders off to a deserted beach With you but you're are so far out of reach Too good and too nice to call...
Haunted by a past that I never will relive, Time is running through my hands, as empty as a sieve. So much more I need to say, so much more to do...
While you read this. Away goes your time. I think is a crime. That this has to rhyme. Just takes away more time. But here it goes. What time shows. Tick-tock. Says the clock. Cutting away your life.
The time is moving somewhere south. But people runing to the north. Some people try to understand. But that's impossible for them. They try to catch the wasted years. Reveal the secrets of the life.
"Oh this is so typical of Mr Past," Exclaimed a voice quite irate.
Has anyone seen my watch. Time has run away... Infuriatingly it does this, When I want it most to stay.
Does anyone else, Feel Time slip Away. As if the hour you thought, Is really a day.
That is what I hear now as I sit here waiting. With pen poised; Ready to write. And the second hand moves slowly round, Reaching the twelve and signalling my beginning.