The chimes don't spell the time

poem about time

The chimes don't spell the time
as well as leaves  
falling from the tree 
that later flowers 
for a summer jamboree.

I crawl in the sands of time  
I tip through an hourglass.

You stand and watch, 
run it through your hands fast;
grains fall at your feet.
the worrisome, 
the lonesome 
half light cheats;
it turns the other cheek 
when dark, 
then flicks a switch  
for the imminent spark!

I know you better 
than the breaths you take,
better than branches 
hanging over the ancient lake

where we swim in twilight wrapping kisses like eels,
where we puncture time's wheel.

The chimes don't spell the time
They just punctuate a sound

Author's Note

be honest

Reviews

[Ty]

All bound together so well with, "punctuate a sound". Great write.