Image by Tama66
Time, Time, racing past,
I want my life to last, to last.
Time, O Time, slow for me,
Let my life be hurry-free,
I want to spend some time with me.
Time, Time, where did you go?
You were too fast. I was too slow.
[First posted 23 November 2012]
The poem’s no great shakes, but I fell in love with this image (called ‘Photographer’) found on pixabay and then had to find something to use it with. I thought it apt.
crispina kemp 
Isn’t that always the way of it? We think we have all the time in the world and suddenly, we realise we so don’t!
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The poem was written at the end of a long, ongoing illness; I couldn’t see the end, only more of the same. It seemed I’d had my life, nothing more to look forward to. And then I, incredibly I recovered. But, 15 years gone. Time, it went without me. But I’m back on track; just not as young as I was (!)
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However, you are here now, wiser and probably have learned how to cope with all sorts of things. I am so very happy you are recovered now, Crispina.
None of us are any younger!
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Actually, I really like the poem…utter simple truth. Even when you know its going fast, you still can’t get out of your own way to do what you want to do. Me I mean. Why is that? Inertia I guess.
I like the photographic art too…nice feel to it.
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I thank you, Judy. Time is behaving most oddly for me of late. One day it creeps, another it skids away at alarming speed. Makes no difference which it is, I still don’t get everything done!
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Brilliant poem that rings a bell with many of us. Great picture, too.
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