And forever never comes as these moments tick away
Telling me what time it is. What time to get up what time to go.
What time I should be there but never
Where the time goes.
Hiding from the click of the clock, behind the wheels,
Behind the cuckoo where minutes are docked.
In my glass of hours,
Sand slips south softly,
Salty spellbinding shower.
Riddle me the grasping of times grains,
And desert swells up above my ankles,
Anchoring me into the past.
But the clock strikes 12.
And I am still here.
Victim only to my misuse of time.
Shards of glass,
Around me my oasis of time flattens,
The cuckoo bird sings, Wake-Up!
For a teller of time.
And it’s time to get up! It’s time to go!
Time for fast forward, no time for slow.
I’m soaring through space,
Splashing past stars,
Realizing the vastness, of real time,
Earthly minutes being so obsolete,
With such little affect, in the total of schemes,
Father time warns me,
With a tick,
And a tock,
That even stars die!
With the passing of a millennia,
And I am struck with the awesomeness,
Will times sand make me sleepy,
While I watch for the death of a star.