Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Time

It is measurable and counted
and directs your every step.
It is as good as money,
yet it's worth nothing at all.
It moves mountains and oceans and coasts.
It's up and in and out and off;
if you want to find it on,
you check your wrist or wall.

It branches out the family tree,
and it's necessary for life.
It can heal all your wounds
and pass as slowly as snails.
It is a dirty four letter word
served behind iron bars and concrete.
It's completely familiar,
but don't know what it entails.

It marks your birth and it marks your death,
but few things in between the two.
It is epic. It is lame.
It's the virtuous virtue.
It is needed to make things happen,
required for the things I do,
and yet it all means nothing
if it is not spent with you.

-Steven West-

3 comments:

  1. I really like this poem. I like the different images that you invoke with time, especially the prison in the second stanza. I also like how you repeatedly see time through a series of contradictions and oppositions. Time is everything and directs everything, yet means nothing and is worth nothing. I was not expecting the love at the end, but it is a nice twist. Thanks for sharing!

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  2. Steven,

    Wow, that was really good. I am no poet but I like poems and any type of writing that is strong and has meaning. You are good with words. Very nice work.

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  3. The ending was definitely unexpected, but I think that's what makes the poem so beautiful. Good job!

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