Hands of Time
Take a leave, monstrous Time
And bury your hands in a compass…
My being dwells in frustration
When calibrated minutes pass
Like a waft robbing my leisure,
My night's pleasure: your rigid ticks
And clicks bite hour's glory;
While precious snapshots of my life
Are murderously gone, gone!
How can those gripping fists plunder
All the nectar of summer’s bloom
In one grasp of your thief-like hands?
That with arrogance, I am left alone
Wailing in the sudden halt of midnight
As the love I cherish is snuffed in one flip.
I shall defer to these rude commands,
If only to curb my angst , for now, now;
Till godly fate redeems me with grace
from your deplorable , covetous enslavement.
Contest of Line Gauthier: Another 2017 Stunner
Previously written 9/22/2017
Repost 4/19/2018
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2017
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