Ode to time!
Her royal cunning...
Planting seeds of her abundance in our hearts.
With her cooing whispers as that of an infant.
Sweetly engaging us in a lazy conversation
persuading us to delve into the path of procastination.
She mocks at our simplicity.
While she mounts her chariot and rides away.

Ode to time!
Her royal sauciness.
Her disregard cuts through boundaries.
From Lords to the lowly.
With no strain of consideration, she rides.
Not perturbed about
the slim chances
which last between waste and conservation.
Hissing at our ignorance
exploiting our regrets.

Ode to time!
Her royal disease.
And shall we not all be plagued?
This mortal body,
we all shall submit
young and old alike
shall drink of the same cup.
The elderly and youthful shall dance
to the
sovereign bidding of time.

Music might be
poetry,
sung in grief,
in joy,
in sonorous voices.
With high pitches,
and tones.
Leaping much too deep.
A loud and clear,
periodically wordless tone.
A music piece
might be a love note,
with pure emotions
running deep.

A piercing of life's purity.
Of trust's transformation
into pitiful betrayal.

Dirge's death tune.
An ode, a praise song.
An elegy,
with instruments finely shaped.
The result of an innovative
craftsman's energy.

He cut my flower,
He made my rose to wither,
He removed my pride,
He took my virginity.

She is an angel of light.
The beauty of our hope.
She is an agent of peace.
But within lives a demon of depression.

To the bathroom and back through the lounge to the kitchen, on to the balcony, something is wrong with me, walked miles and miles and not got anywhere, not seen anyone, never did anything and if I did it wasn't me, a peculiarity from a previous existence, deny it all, but this is different, there's another me outside of me on the balcony and yet still part of me that's not very pleased and I'm not too happy either.

If I stopped
if I stayed
if I got down on my knees and
the other me says,

"What?, Prayed!
don't make me laugh"

almost now a shadow
I am locked in with a madman
and that's another thing not to be
happy about,

so
I look out of the window
with my eyes tightly shut
which
does nothing
and that's what I've been doing
nothing,

Oh! cooking, I've been cooking
found a book in
the library, recipes from
Madhur Jaffrey,
an Indian,
saw her in 'Shakespeare Wallah'
knew she was an actress
but
didn't know she could cook.

I pieced it back together,
It took me forever,
It's still fragile,
I'm trusting you,
Please don't break it again,
I don't think I can fix it this time.

I can't afford another forever.

Years since acquaintances,
Months since 'You and I',
Fortnights since 'We',
Weeks since  "I love you's"
Days since separation,
Hours since your 'Goodbye',
Minutes since tears,

Not even a second since you.