The Hands of Time

Boxed away, holding tight- Seconds passed so utterly polite. Time shrinking, Cluttered air, Feeling drowsy, not a care. Must wake up, must breath the air. Frightened hands, big and little, Afraid to be discovered- Afraid to be belittled. Seeping through my eyes, Discovered blades cut through my pride. Light expounds its glory, on my body with all it's flies. Birth of new beginnings crush my open sky. Time has never stopped, time will never cry. It goes on and on, until every one of us had died. The hands we seek, big and little, repeat. Controlling every aspect we so eagerly seek. We pushed and pulled, and have given in. Time has no passion for what is, within- Begin to feel the things you see, Changing the past from your reality, Giving your life a place to be. Now and here is what is free, Afraid no longer that I cannot see, The whispers of hands no longer control me.