Sonnet I

Time is a petty thing, of worthlessness and despondency,
School one day, University the next, hibernating within angst-ridden children,
Watch, as the piercing arrow reaches deep into discrepancy,
Time’s a-wastin’, time’s a-basting, time’s a bitch, then you die, watch it! Time’s a-buildin’.

I glance at the elderly, poised with tired eyes strained from unfulfilled lives,
And I wonder, I wonder why? Why must time be such a dirty slayer?
A duplicitous trickster who takes you in his arms, leaving you to cry out while he stabs you with knives:
‘What did I ever do to you? You stupid ugly clock-faced betrayer! Who’s the payer?’

But no one pays time to take away what you love and cherish,
Time is just a keeper, the haughty elf-eared coach whom you despise,
Waiting to click the stopwatch and laugh while you perish,
A problem I’d simply love to use the Tardis to chastise.

My mouth hangs open; my hands unclench,
As I walk blindly towards death’s encompassing stench.