Poetry Thursday - Time

Time

Flying

doesn't begin to describe

what happens to it

More like

disintegrate, evaporate, eviscerate

My lack of it

cuts me

like the sharpest of knives

in my drawer

The one I use for carrots

or steak

Little pieces of it

get swept into the dust bin

tossed away

before I know they're gone

Panicked

I rummage through trash

hoping to find a morsel

I can still put to good use

Elated

I grab scraps -

ten minutes here

fifteen there

Could it be I've found

one hour

soggy and tattered

amidst the rubble?

Clutching this treasure

this time of my own,

I weep

Then throw wide the door

and

fly

for more timely verse, go here