Time, with its
varying viscosity,
running through my fingers
when you loved me,
a creeping molten mire
when you stopped.
Time, with its
harried hurried hands
marked the minutes till you left,
then cruelly stopped
and watched me
watching you.
Time I have now
marked you as my enemy.
A wicked thing when
somnolence takes too long,
an equally wicked thing
when you are gone.
Oh Li, this is so moving, and stunningly true. I love how you write.
ReplyDeleteDamn it, time! Why must you be so fleeting? You've captured the sentiment quite well here. Good stuff.
ReplyDeleteStrong words. Sad, too.
ReplyDeleteI loved the expressiveness of this poem. So much is said in very few words.
ReplyDeleteAn expressive poem of loss.
ReplyDeleteTime. Well time does not exist, well maybe in this material world. In our imaginations there is no time. Real life is being one alone (together with the object of our desire) until reunited with source at death. Companionship allows the days to pass in quietness.
Beautiful piece Li. Your writing is just gorgeous. By the way - there's an award over at my place for you!
ReplyDeleteHappy weekend
Lx
Loved your version of time,
ReplyDeleteYvonne.
I loved your poem of loss. Nicely done!
ReplyDeletethis was beautiful...i could feel the sadness in your words
ReplyDeleteThis was one of your first poems? Flash fiction convert? I love it and am very impressed.
ReplyDeleteMike
Li..thanks for stopping by "how r u? ". I love this piece..so beautiful!
ReplyDelete