Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2017
The seconds turned to minutes,
They then turned to hours,
Weeks,
Months,
Even years.
I still haven't found where my heart can be found.
The clock keeps ticking,
And everything continues to age and bloom.
Yet I am stuck wandering,
In the same sequence,
Constantly feeling I'm out of time.
Mark Marcil
Written by
Mark Marcil  Connecticut
(Connecticut)   
367
   snipes
Please log in to view and add comments on poems