When the clock strikes nine..there's always time
Time to sit and think..
..to blink one's eyes.
To gaze in wonder at the skies.
Time allows these moments..but they pass..as we amass more minutes..
..underneath the floating second hand.
Only to lose them in the end as time begins to bend us to its will.
Hard as it may seem to realize that life is just a dream..
..and everything that's in between..is...unreal.
It's true.
Whoever struck the deal..would make no friends..
..as time slows down..
..the ends appear to join together..
..and whatever else we'd like to say.. it's swallowed by another day..
..of which we're not a part.
Some say that time beats like the hardest heart..that may be right
As I approach the night where all my days have congregated
Where all the seconds I have known are seperated from the rest
The time allotted for my rest...is actually..
..no time at all.
The final strike on the stroke of twelve
And now it's time to delve into the uncertainty of the unknown hour.
Where the power of time..though it still holds sway
Has lost its right of night and day.
For me...this is the untrod way..the way that I remember..
The time..like snow in late September..
..lays cold.
No longer old..not even..odd...and feeling sick..
..that reassuring tick..tick..tick is gone.
And yet I know that time goes on.
But not here.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
When the clock strikes nine..there's always time
Time to sit and think..
..to blink one's eyes.
To gaze in wonder at the skies.
Time allows these moments..but they pass..as we amass more minutes..
..underneath the floating second hand.
Only to lose them in the end as time begins to bend us to its will.
Hard as it may seem to realize that life is just a dream..
..and everything that's in between..is...unreal.
It's true.
Whoever struck the deal..would make no friends..
..as time slows down..
..the ends appear to join together..
..and whatever else we'd like to say.. it's swallowed by another day..
..of which we're not a part.
Some say that time beats like the hardest heart..that may be right
As I approach the night where all my days have congregated
Where all the seconds I have known are seperated from the rest
The time allotted for my rest...is actually..
..no time at all.
The final strike on the stroke of twelve
And now it's time to delve into the uncertainty of the unknown hour.
Where the power of time..though it still holds sway
Has lost its right of night and day.
For me...this is the untrod way..the way that I remember..
The time..like snow in late September..
..lays cold.
No longer old..not even..odd...and feeling sick..
..that reassuring tick..tick..tick is gone.
And yet I know that time goes on.
But not here.
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