time cannot be bought
boxed, bargained. it is the gift
we neglect to use.
Time.
There isn't enough
but we spend it anyway,
like the balance of
credit cards, debit
cards - we promise to
pay it back
sometime, not now
but far off in the future
that infinite warehouse
of possibilities
where every account
might somehow turn up
even - though it often
takes a life
time to know for sure.
+++
time is a bucket
we fill with our desires
until life spills out.
we argue with our
selves as if we were the ones
we promised to stop.
there is nothing won
in driving out the purest
parts we hold inside.
+++
Musings on ticking time bombs, unnecessary "pie-"ing of threads, and calm. Add thoughts or insta-poetry if desired.