Time (37)

Time

it’s what we don’t possess,

an illusion, wounds from meteor showers.

mysteriously he will not delay,

this earthquake on your disguise.

your frozen heart hears him,

fears dance all around, paying the ghosts.

slowly,

he’ll bite your lips, trying to make you madly, deeply

in love, pure goddess.

lasciviousness and loss, no hope,

You can’t stop him.

but you can acknowledge and live every single second of your life,

Play him like a violin!


Writing a poem a day for 1 year. This is lucky number 37. Thanks for reading. Feel free to share it. Find me also on Twitter @ElaRoxStefan.

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