Time on his hands

By N3ll

Time
Has never been a friend of mine
Except maybe just this once

He drags his fingers over my whole,
Scratches leaving wrinkles and
deep grooves as if I needed
Those marks as proof that he exists.

As if
His constant theft
Was not enough to remind me

As if the future's narrowing
Was not proof enough.

And each day
His gift gets shorter,
Ever fleeting,
Particles of my soul
Trapped in his glass game.

And he's unkind,
Making sure I know
His gift is never free
And Someday
I'll have to pay him back
wih more than his handprints
staining my skin.

And he calls upon
His friends
late at night
Who visit me
with past regrets
What ifs and
dreams so worn
They can no longer glimmer.

But tonight
I don't mind his passing
Tonight I
Suck in the dust
Of bonds having long settled
And I pull those threads
That travel past his reach
Past that of space,
And I take
Comfort in knowing
That time
Has not slackened the lines,
They are as tight as ever,
Lifelines and vibrating strings
That tug on my heart
Reminding me
That he can
Unwillingly,
Make some things
More beautiful.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2011 Dea Atra
Published on Saturday, April 30, 2011.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "Time on his hands"

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  • A former member wrote: subtle personification.... I often wish time were my lover but it seems more like a bill collector.... as long as he brings a lil beauty now and then, I guess we can get along, huh? Very reflective, resonating so many ways time his (her in my case?) way with us, thank you.

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