From Vixen's Den--As it is

As It Is


Time is not a fugitive

Running along like an insomniac river

Along an unsmooth bed.

Time does not fly.

That fluttering that you hear

Is the stirring of calendar pages

Ripped out in succession,

Disturbed by the passing of heels.

Time waits for all men,

Sitting like Wednesday

on its hump.

Time does not march on,

Solemn as a month of Sundays.

Time is not money;

You can not change it

Time

Brings

Nothing

To pass.

It bears nothing away.

And you can not kill it.