Words of a Poet

The last of my new ones that I had written all on the same page. It’s all about time, always. Never enough time, sometimes too much time. Time spent. Time wasted… what time is it?…

Timed Out

Why waste time, if that’s all you got.

Why spend it and not value
The time spent
How much is it worth?
Enough to spend on me?

Time slips away
The clock races to my heartbeat
I lost track of days
Whether it’s day or night
Whether you spent enough of that time
With me.

by Matthew Henrickson