This week’s poem inspired by all the talk of time passing that seems to accompany significant birthdays.
Time (2)
Groan and complain
of the onrush of time,
merciless marching of months.
Days that flash past,
clocks tick too fast,
fatality waits at the end.
Recall all that happened,
insignificant, grand;
adventures, travels and friends.
No day makes its way
to the abyss ahead
without offering its hours to be filled.
Nyborg 2016
That is so true, We should’nt waste our precious time. Not when we are 50, and specially,not when we are 80. I like your poem.
Very good poem Rilla! Lot´s could be discussed about the concept of time!
I remember my Indian mother in law Nimo, when she first time came to Stockholm in 1984. She reflected: – Why do all people say that they don´t have time?
– Time is the thing you yourself own, she replyed herself.
Plenty of love from me in Stockholm!