Poem

Another day is gone, and all I can do is sigh.

So much I desire to do, to create,

But where has the time gone?

It seems time does nothing but escape,

Leaving me here with precious little left to think.

I am greedy, it is true,

To want all these moments to stretch out,

For just a few more hours of darkness,

To be alone.

That is what I am accustomed to, though,

Always standing apart,

Holding others at bay,

Afraid of them,

Of people that might care.

Time slips away, just as I let love do,

Sifting between my fingers,

As though sand or water?

One could be held, though much is lost,

Whereas the latter will simply disappear.

Which is it, though?

Am I able to keep some to myself,

Or will they all leave?

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