Time passes like an impatient wind,
And as it does, the memories wane.
Like the smoke of a shisha,
the scents hold strong but the vision
slowly disappears.
_
Torrential feelings, icy gusts,
cut through bone marrow and skin
leaving in its anxious haste a
hardened shell, frozen.
_
Time passes like an impatient wind,
And the figurines that used to
play in the mind’s eye so oft
trip and slip and slowly dissolve.
Features dissipate
_
like formations made in the sand,
altered by the eager gale.
Cling to images as you might
but the forms escape.
_
Time is a capricious lover,
Flirting with the innocent with
pledges to stay forever
and heady incantations of
fantasies fulfilled.
_
Then, in the dead of night or in
subtle moments in between
time slips from beneath the sheets and
wrinkled are they left.
_
Wind.
The image that was once the form
that you could just about touch
in silent moments in the dark
chases nimble time.
_
And then one day when you awake
and realize that it’s gone
you’ll spend your whole life searching for
what you can’t recall.
_
Time.
Keen to capture the scents and sounds
To trap Image in your mind
You sprint, too hasty through your life
And never beat time.