By Neil Jha
The clock ticks,
Minutes all rolling together in a rush.
Time is wise to our tricks,
And numbers fail to confine.
The seconds that barely meet,
Before they tear apart in silence.
And for all my wiles, I cannot cheat,
The fleeting dance of evermore.
A flow of endless reverie,
I trace the steps to a different song,
My days doomed to memory,
Twirling to the empty sound of echoes.
For in greed I try to devour,
The minutes we have left.
Marring their sweetness sour,
Leaving behind hollow shells of times past.
Blinded by a mist of memories,
A muddle of moments.