MusingsPoetry

Time

An essence man grapples for….
In the chasm of ethereal nothingness.

Boys chasing the blue skies at midday,
defying the winds against all odds.
At nightfall, a boy finds himself a man, grey with age.

Time, an addiction man yearns for.
The drug from which breath is drawn;
Man, high on demand for more…
Yet it is on time that sand castles were built close to the shores of vanities.

Time indeed creeps on all fours, yet like quicksand, it sinks a man in his youth and returns him, frail with bones old.

An old man turns to time again;
an unyielding penchant for the youthfulness the blossoms of time offers.
Like a young one time ever is, she turns her back on her old betrothed.

Time indeed is lost…
Never to be regained.
Her fair breasts tempting
but from its nipples man may never suckle again.

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