Time

[Leanne]

Now now, Dale, you've been writing these morbid "death's door" pieces for so long you should have well and truly shuffled off the mortal coil already! Decrepitude becomes you, however, at least in poetry

I regret that I have but one life, -- this is the way I like to see cliches used, to draw attention and then subtly subvert expectations
not to give… but to live!
Here I find that before I have fully entered
I am walking out the door,
in the midst of walking forward
I find I’ve turned about;
like a match, before being fully lit, -- would you consider "before it's fully lit" to avoid another -ing and help the meter along a bit?
I find that I'm snuffed out.

It is true I’ll admit,
I have been at times
a spendthrift of minutes,
a wastrel of hours,
a squanderer of days,
as I idled in a diffidently
hesitating, halcyon haze. -- I love this entire stanza

At times too,
I have been a hoarder of time,
a miser of the fleeting moment,
a collector of the clicks of Cronus’ -- nice alliteration
heels as he strides across the
titanic gulf, over the starry field.
Still, time is not a set of baseball cards
with included stiff-stick pink-gum. -- I wonder if "that comes with stiff-stick pink-gum" might work here?
There is no coin with which
time can be bought,
to then be categorized,
and put neatly in it’s place,
in a book of like minded cards. -- I do love the analogy, it's sticking with me through each read and developing further, so that's brilliant

There are none like minded, -- would a semi-colon be better here?
time does not mind, but instead
expects to be minded.
Time is, just such a card, -- the comma after "is" seems unnecessary, even for pacing
often sought, rarely found,
a rare one for sure,
for to find time is hard. -- it seems that the ideas in three lines are starting to become repetitious
One might just as easily
walk down an obscure path,
and find it lying on the ground

A pack of knaves, a house of cards,
a ring around the rosy?
It matters not for in the end
we all fall down humpty dumpty:
broken, fragmented,
a shell of our former self, -- lovely pun!
never to rise again.

Time cares not, it makes no amends,
it is the unglue that throughout
the universe permeates.
Time wishes not to create:
but only to unmake. -- the negatives in this stanza and the next provide a very interesting contrast to the rest of the poem

The un-maker procreator
of timeless destruction;
the succubus of life.
Sucking the life out of energy,
and the energy out of life.
It is true, wise men have found,
that even when sated,
time continues to wind down. -- you are the master of the anti-climax, it's excellent -- but I wonder if, for the sake of pace, you might consider "time continues winding down"?


© -Erthona

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Crap -- sorry Dale, I just realised this is the fun forum -- I got carried away. Feel free to ignore me.

Anyone coming after, DON'T DO AS I DO!