time is a wheel, spinning, constantly
changing.
February kisses blur together with June dreams
visions seen
reminding me of them.
crumpled ball of shame
unfolds into hope
then back again.

Time is a box,
enclosing from all sides
suffocating.
Past is pain, present doesn't matter, future is fear.
Moving too fast, never to again to appear;
gone like smoke, twisting memories,
and dreams, gone with the wind,
never to return.

Time moves faster than my feet when spinning.
Closing, warping, gone
and I am lost.
What is the right time?
a stamp of approval must adorn one.
Where in time should I be?