Gambling With Time

In a broad daylight, A shadow of melancholy touched my lithe fancies, As a cloud dims the waving of golden grain, But then, a sudden sense of fear and pain ran through my nerves like the chill of an icy wind. I'm so delusional, It's like I'm working for time, Maybe with time, Or perhaps against time, With a deadly sweet voice caroling like a gold-caged nightingale. I think I'm living too fast, Within my pace or lazy. Is time creating equal opportunities for my gloomy soul? The quest to know is so real, And at the same time blurry that it's almost blinding me. From my poem, Again, you can hear a thin shrill voice, Like the cry of an expiring mouse, Fighting a hidden vague thought associated with time, As elusive as the smell of a primrose.