"recountable" poems
Time is but subjective
It passes much like dreams
Recountable is the content
But not the beginning or the end are seen
There in the distance
Where time is of essence
Prodigies count time through notes
Bars are a pulse composed of worth
Life, it streams from young ones throats
In what is now a far off land
Where time is measured
Through blood and sand
Many an end was met by steel
Whose other edge did hope reveal
The place where myth and legend fly
Rarely stops to ponder time
For it is plentiful and runs like wine
Immortal they are, and divine
Unbeknownst to human kind
Here on the page
Where all flows from pens
I tried to gain control again
Through fights for fabrications
I nearly lost all sense
And still the time continues on
And tears won’t stop for this
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 12:02 AM UTC