The Poetry Of Time
Time is but a poem,
Free flowing without rhyme or reason
Progressing in waves of memory foam
Caring not for the hour or season
Time is a friend which brought to me my true
But alas, also the enemy which keeps me from you
Gravity never fails just as time never stops
Held down and pushed foward, never leaving a drop
Not knowing when, how, or where it will end
Or when I will feel your touch once again
Time forges on, scripting its eternal story
Chapters like twining vines, of a blooming morning glory
A matrix of experiences, crossroads a plethora
I must find the path on times road back to my Maranda
Loving you is easy, 'tis the waiting which aches my heart
Time is a poem, seemingly a tragedy whilst we're apart
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