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Zack Ripley Sep 13
Just because the world changes
Every day, hour, minute, and second,
Doesn't mean you have to.
But, then again,
Maybe that's exactly why you should.
Amanda Hawk Aug 28
Tears are a signature
Our mouths
Can’t quite sign
For goodbye lingers
In the corner of our eyes
Stumbling down our cheeks
Hands shake for words
To create in an embrace
That will swallow us whole
And for a moment
Feel full, overflowing
Healing
For seconds are fleeting
When goodbye has a home
Upon your tongue
Amanda Hawk Aug 27
Minutes, short puffs

hours fade away

and in the mist

I spell your name

you are fleeting

a ghost waltzing

through my hours

I grab at seconds

small beads slipping

between my fingers

I become my own hourglass

holding on to your shadow

and gliding back and forth

within nostalgia
angelique Jul 18
when time slips through your fingers,
you realise just how precious it is

~

as soon as a second steers
itself into manifold past
the mind is
programmed,
spurred by intuition
to reflect pure
imagination or contradiction,
to accept or to deny;
'tis all up to you


~
MoDavid Jul 6
Seconds fall, dripping one after the other in an unbroken eternity.
Slowly as they accumulate, the past becomes a formidable mass of years,
Before which we stand, unintent of heeding the whispers of such a behemoth.
Yet in retrospect, we shed tears and laugh greatly at the moments bygone,
Reliving memories as if they were happening, only to realize we are trapped—
Forever destined to never reconcile with the past. A tragedy,
And yet an inevitable truth which limits the resent of all men.
Written last July 5, 2019 (exactly a year and two days ago). I was pondering the essence of time then.
Nylee Jun 26
You find something in seconds
You lose it as fast
What remains is the presence
of an absence
the void, the nothingness
Lamenting wondering
What's wrong
and what is gone.
I've been watching the clock
daydreaming of us holding each other,
the sun in our eyes and the bright blue skies,
the smell of the grass and the white noise of chatter,
the wind sending us cold kisses on our cheeks and
whirling your chestnut brown hair,
the way your lips curl with your charming smile
and the way your eyes sparkle melts my soul,
I've craved feeling your skin against mine,
your touch that sends me to the highest of places
as our fingers interlace gently,
your lips pressed to mine as I can feel
how much we've missed each other, passionate yet tender
and every nerve in my body sends into this rush of longing for you
and here, all I want is to stay in your arms a little longer,
stare into each other's eyes a little longer,
I want us to just stay at this moment for a little longer
but for now, you're alive but only in my mind
missing you extra hard every single time
waiting till I see you again
counting down the seconds till I can.
lockdown thoughts got me missing and craving for intimate moments and I've been imagining when I'm finally in your arms again
Dr zik Apr 23
Social distance is the best,
Waving hands and, not shaking
You can touch your, lovely heart
Keep a distance, of 6 feet
Social distance is the best

To keep safe your, inner side
Dust mask is the, best to use
If you need to, touch a thing
Gloves are the best, as tactic
Social distance is the best

If you are with, the hands naked
Tissue paper, you should use
Give up all type, wandering
Social distance is the best

If you are in, dire need of
Cooking, washing, or cleaning
Be determined, with full care
Social distance is the best

Go to market, for a while
On fix hours as decided
Your getup should, as guided
Mask n glasses, hands in gloves
Social distance is the best

Come in hurry to, clean yourself
Twenty seconds, wash your hands
Destroy all things, which you can
Social distance is the best

If shows these lights, your character
It will be a great honour
I will salute to, you man
I will with you, as a fan
………..
Dr Zik's Poetry
Time
Is relative,
Pain is not;
How seamless
We pass through moments
Yet how entrenched
In the wallowing
Swallowing echo
Of a bitter cry in the wilderness
the same grey car passes by Whitman Avenue each morning.
passing the seconds by.
"tick, tick, tick," the clock says, aimlessly.
the trees fade from their summer green to a dark, autumn orange.
passing the years by.
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