Try as I might, there just wasn’t enough time for me to do everything I wanted this weekend. Including writing a full story like I have been lately. Been wanting to write about time and what it means to me, but haven’t been able to find the words yet.

Since there were strong feelings in me about a lack of time, I wrote another new poem to take care of my inability to write one thousand plus words.

It’s about doing what we can with the time we have.

Not Enough.

Time flies by.

It’s wont to do,
whether we want it to —

or not.

Oftentimes this is the hardest thing for me.

Bought.

Time can’t be.
Fleetingly, flippantly —

frighteningly,

finite.

For what is it?

Fraught but with —
fingerprint.

‘Swhat we leave.

If not,
’tis but breeze in kind.

We know the begin —

but cannot the end.

Sometimes to come,
an effervescent rend.

When time sequentially serenades
a solliloquy somberly —

stop.

Smell sunflower, something —
or other.

Remember your bedrock.

Take support, gain cover.

Time runs out.
Not a wonder.

Enjoying what we have,
while striving for more.

Brings happiness.

Can’t guarantee without a blunder,
but happiness —

happiness that can’t be given a number.

 

Thank you for reading.

©2017 Trevor Elms.

Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2017