This is Goodbye

You’re wasting my time.
But, the time which you speak of
Was never yours to own.
Love was once shown
Like dew on red-painted lips
Like a feather balancing on your fingertips
It’s precarious hold
Never lasting as Time grew old--
--You’re wasting my time.
Your time moves faster
Than Father Time can run
And in order to dance beneath the Sun
I would have to descend from the clouds
That the dead created-- the black shrouds
Decaying fumes
Death sings happy tunes
This is Goodbye
But you just sigh--
You’re wasting my time.

Reviews

[Jessiee]

thats really good. :)

[raindroplove]

goob job

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

How perfectly bleak and startled nighing deliverable, love abated and washed silence, well done, well written, god read.

[Karina Anderson]

I honestly, really like this poem. The metaphorical phrasing, the ticking rhythm, even the multitude of ways it could be interpreted. You articulate yourself quite well and I think the piece shows it. Your an expansive writer, and I like it. Favorite. :]