Time, quietly holding its breath,
stands perversely still...

Unbending, against hopes, schemes,
beyond either tears or dreams...

Rigid, controlling, slowly trudging
onwards into the future...

So, then must I, mutely to hold,
an ardently aching heart...

Waiting, restlessly, for time to
catch up with desire and need...

Only then, ironically, wishing for
ever more infinite, fickle time...

Jadie Rose
 

Copyright©2002 Jadie Rose
All Rights Reserved
No reproduction of this material is allowed without written permission from the author
 

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