For a long time,

I’ve struggled against the unforgiving tide

of time.

I’ve despised,

the way it moves at its own will.


Its nature is swift and slippery,

in our most joyous moments.

As we cackle our mirth away

it moves in silence,

Sharpening its claws and waiting 

for the gloom.


And when the inevitable despair comes,

time pounces;

and buries its claws on our backs.

It slows its pace,

Till we are agonizingly aware of its presence.

No matter how much we struggle against it,

the claws of time remain buried

in our backs;

making us its slave.


But now,

I don’t despise it.

Neither do I love it.

For time has ripped me 

of my mortal remains,

And what remains inside me,

Is an unfeeling,

an unloving

shell of the past. 

What are you looking for?