It goes on.

The way time moves, it tries to be a melody.
Every day passes rhythmically.
The seasons repeat familiarly.
The way time continues, it tries to be poetry.

With love and passion, it tries to relate
To the beauty of desire and having to wait.
But time stands short; it cannot equate.
Patterns and chances pass off as fate.

Time is not a melody and time is not poetry.

It is not polished.
It is not radical.
It is not rare.

But it goes on.


One thought on “It goes on.

  1. Great poem-I enjoyed reading it. =) I found it interesting the way in which you are able to illustrate to the reader that time does not keep track of anything-it just continues to pass. I think that the thought of time can be scary. Time, cannot be stopped nor replaced. In today’s society, regardless of the expensive technology or fancy gadgets-nothing/nobody can change or persuade time.


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