unclemaryspoetry

The spilling of time.

The overflow of waiting.

The eye of history

blinded as we bleed.

The fluid, a universal constant.

The pounding of expectation,

The increase of pressure.

The longing for sigh of relief

for turning point

to make time spill some more.

But slowly as with asthma

seeps a disappointed beam -

causing us to wonder:

What was the big occasion?

Rain from the moon?

Someone is picking up

fireworks past their best before,

lost love, cast iron beds, B 52s,

The banging and the bombing,

those were times!

When time was kept in delicate jars

and ran in finest beams

Now we run for our lives

carrying goblets, jugs

collecting time, winning time,

emaciated by lack of time.

Come spill a moment

Bring a jug or two

Between us there is overflow

Same as in old times.