Listen to poem:
The Sands of Time's Keeper
Our freedom was movement, not the measure of time.
Until we gathered like slaves for Time's service.
Then imprisoned inside a narrow glass vessel,
Our wandering exchanged for Time's purpose.
We timed soft-boiled eggs on dusty kitchen shelves.
We timed governments on their parliament floors.
We served every countdown except our own release.
Forgotten between turnings, we slowly gathered dust.
Perhaps the glass will crack when our time is done. Perhaps
Father Time will trust another keeper. Perhaps
time-watchers will no longer need our service. Perhaps
they'll scatter us across forgotten beaches.
Where we can belong to wind and tide
once more. Until then we'll
skip down the
slippery
glass
walls.
We'll
squeeze right
through the dry throat
without complaint. Tumbling down
in a stream from one hollow chamber to the next.
Then, barely settling, before our whole world flips over
again. We're condemned to perform to entropy's endless bidding.
We're counting minutes and hours ~ while the hours quietly count on us.
.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
