When the days dread
On and on, hung by a thread
I love to hate,
And hate to love
All that is, all that was.
Weeks move faster
Than I can count,
Deal, steal, each disaster,
Plead with time's mount,
Wait for me, won't you please?
I beg of you,
Won't you wait for me?
When the days dread on and on,
I find no comfort in silly songs
That distract the mind,
Heed, yet you will not find
Answers to questions,
Nor qualms, nor rhymes.
Years sprint out the door,
Right through my fingers-
Head to the floor,
This place I shall linger
For longer than I rather,
However, the knowledge
That will be gathered
May suffice to aid my
Travels through these
Testy times.
Very mysterious... but the feeling of the poem is very clear. *Like*
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