Uncle Eugene’s breaking down.
Murmurs come from the room down the hall -
Surgery. Blood clot. A third kind of cancer.
“It’s just a matter of time.”
But for now, I’m laying by the fire,
warmth seeping into my bones.
My grandparents are alive,
one falling into incoherence,
but not bad yet.
My mother is here.
My father is upstairs.
We are under one roof.
And I am escaping into a written world
by the warmth of the fire.
The world outside is cold,
and eventually I must face the chill
for the sake of my dog
and because time marches forever forward
with graceless strides.
But for once, my mind is calm,
and I will drape myself with this moment
when the wind picks back up.
How could I believe
you would stay
when people only leave?
Loss after loss, I begin to not grieve.
But how could I be relieved
when you left
when I began to cleave?
I became terrified of what I preconceived.
It had become my own philosophy,
maybe a self-fulfilling prophecy.
So I couldn't help but smile when you walked away,
because the tormenting wait was no longer for another day.
Tick tock, tick tock, goes the clock
As time passes by, we cannot stop
Life moves forward, never standing still
Changing and growing, at its own will
We try to hold on, to each precious moment
But they slip away, like sand in a moment
One day we are young, full of life and charm
The next we are gray, with no strength in our arm
We chase our dreams, and make them come true
But soon they are lost, like a morning dew
We love and laugh, and cherish every smile
But with time, they fade away, every mile
So every moment we have, we must make it count
For time is precious, and it won't wait around
Life may be short, and time may be quick
But we can make a difference, that's just the trick
So let's cherish every moment, and never let it go
For life is just a matter of time, you know.
It was on lucky thirteenth day,
Only few months into newest fray.
I've been living in the same place for seven years now and I haven't changed one iota.
I try to run away, find a new home and maybe you.
I found that God didn't want me to leave forever, better things maybe waiting for me somewhere, maybe near my beach. If daydreaming is a sin why should I stay awake? at this rate I can't even stand the rain or even seeing his face in my own dreams.
I just have to die, things sometimes get difficult to deal with.
My body is my church, an infinite fortress of scars, desires and secrets.
And if one day the idea of ??chasing the wind jumps again, bring me back to the ground, before I collapse without even having learned to properly fly yet
Whenever I’m alone,
As usually I am these days,
I make room to acknowledge
The weight of my own presence
By minding the tide of my breath.
It flows in on a four-count
With the ease of deliberate intent
Advancing toward its seawall limit.
It flows out on an eight-count
Revealing a beachcomber’s dream.
In that moment my mind envisions
Outstretched sands littered by time
With everything ever’s been lost
By all romantic searchers
Navigating treacherous seas.
It isn’t hard to feel unloved.
It’s easy as taking a breath and letting it go.
Letting go of everything
Is all one really gets to do.
It’s just a matter of time.
It's just a matter of time
before you are mine
I already realize
that you love me so
I see it in your eyes
you think I wouldn't know
No more shy lies
It's time for you to show
My feelings for you are sublime
playing games we wasted time
Take my hand and be with me
whatever happens let it be
For in my eyes you will always see
I love you so
would never let you go
Hold me long and tight
love me with all your might
It's just a matter of time
you can say of me your mine
Am I surprise
to my silly games your wise
True love we cannot hide
It was just a matter of time
we discover we are incline
that we suddenly realize
we love each other so
see it in our eyes
always knew we would know
no more shy lies
for each other our love always shows
Time passed
time lost, ?
time left behind
crucial matter, time...
plurality, mixture
fusion of eras...
what comes to us
in future times !?
The brown of the earth
caked on my hand
filling ridges too
where tools had rested
all morning
waiting forever
for the lunch whistle
In a way to past this day in pleasure,
I guessed to calculate time by measure,
I stood in front of a door that opened,
Walked through, closed behind me, it unfolded,
When sixty seconds stood at my command,
Gave them directions and quickly disband,
***32,616,001 minutes commanded full-filled since my birth, 62 years, 5 days ago.
2019 September 08
Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Ironic Zink
Fearful reflection
Will the time, once go away ?
Stop, at the end of the road ...
and nothing will last ?
- You can never own the time
Every second - one heartbeat
The time is ticking
Living life to the fullest -
in faith and obedience
You might not see it ...
Time has meaning and value
I ask, where does the road go ?
14.07.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Fives and Sevens Poetry Contest
Choka : 5 - 7 - 7 - 5 - 7 - 7
Sponsored by: Joseph May
# 4
2nd place in the contest
C-omplete triumph is in sight,
R-ight path you tread on;
Y-ou sense the bright light,
S-eeing the rising beacon.
'T-is just a matter of time,
A-nother win is coming by;
L-ove, faith, and hope fill the tenth of July.
C-omplete success is in view,
A-fter beating the dirt and grime;
B-ig reward will be given,
I-t's only a matter of
T-ime.
if you dont hear me now
you'll hear me later
it's just a matter of time
before the melodious sound of that cello
finds its way into your heart
the purpose of those balmy afternoons
and those beautiful balmy evenings
with truth, love, and grace
it's just a matter of time
before you make the connection
between grace of self and grace of all
towards grace of one
humanity.
broken spindle lay on its side
the stair rail weakened
Can an hour glass turn itself?
no one hastens the seeming repose
splintered spindle reclines in peace
raggedy doll's eyes are closed
and the hour glass gathers dust
objects jog her memories of a fight
spindle in one scarred hand
doll clutched in the other
she turns the hour glass over
day of new beginnings
a passing taste
between
dripping candles.
dressed in stories
remembered
and told,
of mothers
fathers
wives
mistresses
and
prison.
some died
some could have died
some
should
have
died.
and some
never
die.
Frank Penicaro(c)copyright 2010
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.