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Julianna Bozsik Poem
Time waits for no one. Isn’t that great?
If it waited on us, it would end up too late.
We think we’re the master of our time controlled realm,
But Time is the faster man at the helm.
What we witness now is already gone.
When? Where? and How? is the ultimate con.
When we’re young and naïve, we set ourselves up,
For we often believe we can measure the cup.
We sip and we dine never hearing the chime,
Never drawing the line between work and home time.
And what of the child we lose to the hours
Of days and months filed in Time’s secret towers?
We wake to each day. Isn’t it great?
And know we rely on Time’s ceaseless wake.
Take nothing for granted. Time is the king.
It’s what poets have ranted and what we all sing.
Life is for living. Don’t worry about time.
Ask what you’re giving. Hand someone a dime.
Keep hold of your dreams and be sure that you share.
Send loved ones some moonbeams, safe journeys through prayer.
“Time waits for no one” does not have to be
The mantra that traps you, but sets you free.
Copyright © Julianna Bozsik | Year Posted 2025
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Julianna Bozsik Poem
Along the shore
Wind
adores the sand, the stone
The Salish Sea
calls to me
I am an island upon an island
Restlessly
wishing
A gull in communion
with mountains, trees
Water my source of birth and food
Harbinger of ancient ways
In my soul such dynasties
free themselves
Only within the emptiness
where the wind exhales
are you with me
Forever
on the edge
Eternally
your footsteps left behind
though washed away
I see them
Remember
as no other could
Even though water brushed aside
the moments
I am the witness
Your cry imbedded in my soul
A starfish rests upon my pillow
at night when the sea
the Salish Sea
calls to me
Dream the dream of us to be.
Copyright © Julianna Bozsik | Year Posted 2025
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Julianna Bozsik Poem
I will miss you so, dear August of mine!
When September winds blow and the days shift
Into evening silhouettes of birds,
Listlessly observing from trees that lift
Long limbs, where acorns drop for squirrels to dine.
Many smiles, passionate touches, we share.
In summer script, your diary’s warm words
Shall haunt me into winter. May your gift
Survive when I am lonely. When I pine
Your absent lips, your fragrant rose-strewn hair
Or hold your sweet sachet of jasmine vine
Under my pillow as I’m set adrift.
Sweet August, will you tell me you’ll be true?
Or will the Fall leaf’s shiver, silence you?
Copyright © Julianna Bozsik | Year Posted 2025
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