Time

A poem for my enemy.

TIME

It is full of pretence and delusion,
modifies itself
between the hours
of five and twelve,
slipping through your fingers
like liquid glass,
then drags its heels
through the dust of dreary days
seeing ambition thwarted
in its wake.

It creeps upon you,
a panther in the night
leaving you devoid of breath,
empty handed,
faceless.

It is heavy with sorrows
that never leave.
Scattered with dreams
set to expire.
Swollen with tears.
Swallows you whole.

I wait endlessly
for it to pass
and fear one day it will have,
without me noticing.