It is a crime

Time is a fiend
what it asks of me
some tender underbelly
of hope that bleeds
when it is disappointed
It does not take without
leaving its card

Time is a thief
when we are not looking
it takes more than its share
suddenly a month gone
then two, reaching back
as it takes it takes
the great taker

Time has been murdered
in the name of leisure
in the name of discouragement
just killing, time our credo
when the winter has beat on us

and I am not exempt for I have killed
I have also killed for that lovely

bit of nothing



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