Time as a conception of my thinking,
Can I birth such a reasoning of continuity?
... Do I wake to dream, only to find my vision?
The laps of reality carry me to search
What wit will I find in the vault of forlorn hope?
Time passes and I long to find myself still
Something that you can behold but cannot truly fold
Some concept you can hold but cannot truly control
I swallow whole, the concept of time
Dreaming that a picture of a future me can be mine
Time seems to escape and I cannot wear a cape
A cape to save myself from the loss of opportunity
However in the serenity of my ability
I believe that I can achieve some nobility
And then favour can afford me to rise
To my surprise, I find motivation to comb for the prize
To not mope and mop the floor of failure
I seek with all my cognition to amount to my ambition
Time has me frisson in a cell of constricting wishing
Wishing and yearning that I had a magic wand
Where all wounds and ails would pass away
If I can only get in the palm of the hands of time
I would no longer wonder where the ticks come from
So soon I would belong, in a space of comforting freedom
The magic would not my self apprehend
And time would be my friend
I would glide with its pendulum
Then maybe I would gain sight of this conundrum
Where there is no beat to sound but ticks that trick
Then maybe light would be in the darkness, by way of some candle wick
Then time would be understood
I would then wake up to this entrapment that has me feeling crooked.