PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Minutes, hah, who cares for minutes?

Sixty empty pieces of an hour

glass marching on the days in two dozen

trips moving the months by twelve at a time

travel the full cycle of a year



and here we are again in February sleet

it's too warm to be cozy

and still too cold to be spring

this restless room beckons me like a lover

i've run around and i know that i can't really leave her

i left her for destruction in the early spring

and elation in the early summer

and oblivion in the mid-autumn

and resignation in the late winter

but now she's calling me back an i'm coming

i'll live my whole life in here



Lifetime, hah, who cares for a lifetime?

too many slovenly years

built on the backs of twelve sleeping months

held together by dull, artificial days

grains of sand filling the listless hours

with these empty minutes