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Created on: November 15, 2009
Not enough hours in the day
When depressed, the hours drag on
But now, almost in the blank spaces of normalcy,
I recognize the subjectivity of time,
sort of longing for the sped up reality of mania.
Learn more about this author, Melissa Miles McCarter.
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Poetry: Has time slipped away?
Poetry: Has time slipped away?
The days have passed so quickly, where has the summer gone?
Cool winds blowing my hair gently,
Time
reflects in the carving of a deep canyon
by a river.
Time
reflects in the blooming and fruiting
and endless overgrowth
that
While toil lends time,
Joy steals it, whipping it around corners
Like a wind over a landscape,
Speeding through life's moments.
One hundred five and still alive
Alert clear headed how she thrives
One wonders how she spends her days
While all that
The Time that Goes By
Ticking,
rhythmically,
the seconds pass,
turning into minutes,
then hours.
Days become weeks,
folding
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