Time

Time (a poem)

Time rolls us along the throng,
Our memories stick like lint,
Weaving into our life's fabric,
Remnants at which we pick.

Take a seat, enjoy the ride
Visions of your life flashing by,
Moving forward, looking back,
Memories cherished, or of lack.

I put on my morning mascara,
Takes me back to high school days,
Boy in the hall, same time each day,
Smiles, to catch my coquette gaze.

Peonies remind me of a neighbor
Who had done my blossoms wrong,
Clipping their blooms, dead of night,
Murdered fragrant roses by daylight.

Flashes of smiles, faces trusted,
Friends and the fiegned, the same,
Save the good, ditch the charade,
Simply rewind, repeat, eternal replay.

At end, it is Time, we cannot escape,
So let it not be the thing you waste,
Echos, good or bad, reside in the past,
Live for now, Time runs a fickle race.

–Joan Wiley

Copyright 2021 Joan Wiley

Published by Wayward Writer

American Author, Entrepreneur, and Free-Thinker.

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