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Seconds slither as if Years,
Minutes meander like Months,
and Hours can hover for Weeks.
Days become what's done with them,
while Weeks can feel like Hours,
Months move by like Minutes,
and Years tick as if Seconds.

Yet, somehow,
it all surely adds up;
so, seek they all count.

Mortality is Time
on loan from the Universe/Tao/God/etc.
As per the contract that is blood,
the debt is to be paid in full and collected for the All
by none other than Death: among the more loyal of entities.
(Yes, harsher loan sharks than Death do exist!)

Point is:
Live it up while you can,
whatever that may mean to you.

It's not about softening the blow,
it's about leaving an impact.
Preferably a good one.

Ultimately, that choice-
that responsibility-
is wholly yours to bear.

Would you trust you?
Would you trust me?

Thus must One
tread lightly, yet decisively.

Pay attention
to each and every second,
whether on the outside or in.

By patience and self-discipline
One may come to see
Out and In are really One.

A perfect circle.

Choose to live,
don't just *be alive.
Twixt the lines,
circles beget spirals.
Spiral out. Keep going.

"To dismiss as 'Dark' is to eclipse what complementary Light!"

16.3.15
Smiling with rough sore eyes
Is near to the best feeling
After being a duvet blanket sloth
and crying all week.
I  need to climb the mountain




from the  swamp below but you climbed down to me.
Thankyou for being a peak.
Sydney Ann Jan 2015
Fog
On those mornings,
and days,
weeks
that last for years
where my head is foggy
every second,
foggily upset
and unable to grasp
what the real problem is
if there is an actual problem to begin with
the best thing to do
is not make any decisions
'cause you'll regret them
forever.
Amanda Jan 2015
Instagram
is telling me
that it was 87 weeks,
or 613 days ago,
that we last
held hands,
and you pretended
that you loved me.

The last time we
locked eyes
was 43 weeks ago
at our mutual friend's
art exhibit.
304 days ago
we saw each
other last,
and it may be a
lifetime
before that ever
happens
again.
liz Sep 2014
"I miss you though."
Is what you say to me
when I suddenly cross your mind
after all this time.
Weeks.
Months.
Years.
Time passes without parachutes
guarding these seconds.

Little do they tell you
about this thing called distance,
it's like a game of Telephone.
And I believe
that your last two words got lost in translation.
"I miss you though, not enough."
Sixty seconds in a minute.
Sixty minutes in an hour.
Twenty four completes one day.
How many days for love to flower?

I only glimpsed you for one second.
A minute for my heart to beat.
Was so in love within the hour.
That day I saw that face so sweet.

Our kiss a minute lasts a second.
An hours a minute in your arms.
When were together weeks are hours.
Our years but weeks this marriage charms.

But now your gone seconds are hours.
Minutes seems to last a day.
A day will slowly take forever.
Till we next meet so far away.
1990's
Ryan Cripps Jul 2014
The more you know,
The less you’ll like.
That’s why I stay mysterious,
And sometimes impolite.

It takes a lot of trust
For me to open the door.
For you to shop through my feeling,
Like you shop through clothes at a store.

It may take days,
It may take weeks,
It may take months
To a year.

Don’t get impatient,
Just love me,
Please.
My dear.
Follow me on twitter: @RadicalMartian
Follow me on Hello Poetry too :)
Amour de Monet May 2014
Did I tell you?

I’m kind of quiet… no, really, I am. You should see me around people I don’t know…. Ha, yes, I know you don’t believe me… I talk my socks off around you. But, you’re different. You already know the contents of me… I mean, you may not have read every page in detail, but you get the rough draft. Not many people get that. Man, what a stuck up ***** they say… Miss goody two shoes is too good for us… Not all of us are rich like you they say. Oh, how I wish I was any of those things…it wouldn’t sting when they mistook me for anything but the plains, but instead they see skylines and frosted mountains. I am not as complex, I am not as breathtaking, I am not such a climb. It’s funny. i have it together - it appears from the outside looking in. On the inside, I’m so tired. I know you know this - but they don’t. They don’t see 14 hour days, 98 hour weeks, 5,784 hour years… of on the go, here you can have my time, my peace, my arms, my legs, my soul. They don’t see that. They don’t see me helping the family when they need food that week..and me not eating. They don’t see my sore back, my restless nights, or the loneliness that follows endless hours. I’m the one missing out… and they think I am better than them. If they only knew how much I wished I could be more like them and less like me…. how they are the morning skies… and I am merely a spectacle to their bold colors. They’re outspoken, care free, sociable, …extroverted. I wouldn’t dare say a word. I know even then they wouldn’t get me… not like you do. I just sit back - quietly, watching, listening, absorbing…an abused sponge from one too many passes on the burnt pan. Ha, that’s me. Still giving my all - in whatever pieces are left of me, trying to shine the world. Silly I am. I’m ready to get out of here… or find myself again, and stop smothering my heart. It’s an out of control fire and my day to day has become the dirt. I think if I exhale in a week you may just see smoke pouring from my lungs… I’m burning out. Can you tell?

— The End —