poetry

Who’s turn is it, mine or yours.

The colors are running dry, the brightness is fading fast.

Age is growing older, time is ticking by.

Who’s turn is it, mine or yours, is it time yet?

The time is ticking by.

Colors fade, time ticks away, and all we can do is keep on moving with each flow of the motions of life.

Each flow, each motion, each tick tock of the clock brings us closer to the other side.

For each new day, each new lesson, we each get to sit and wait…

We take turns experiencing lessons as we wait and wait for each new day to come and tick tock on by.

There is no time, really.

It is your turn, surely it is not mine.

Every day that passes, I have had experiences that have lasted me days upon days that I cannot even remember my first name.

They call you by your last name, leaving you to wonder who you even are anymore.

Let’s start writing, maybe keep track of things, so we can see where all of this waiting is leading us to.

The days tick on by, a wind blows, a hollow sound goes through one ear hole and out the other.

Is there even anything that comes after this?

Shall we sit here and wait until the last drop of color has faded away and the clock runs out of ticks and tocks?

I surely don’t even know when it was that I last ran through a field without a care.

It would be nice to eat without the fear of there being little left to eat upon the next morrow.

We shall sit and watch as the clock ticks away and the sun fades and makes its way below the horizon, leaving the twilight sky for us to rest upon.

As we lay awake in wonder, we may, oh we may, dream upon the twinkling sky, that we may awaken upon a new day with the brightest of colors.

Oh to heavens we may wish upon that we may awaken to plenty of food, and for all the clocks to have faded away so we may run into the field and pretend we have wings.

A day full of joy, full of wonder and plenty of laughter.

Upon this start I do wish.

Thank you, until we meet again.

– M.