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The essence of time is LONELINESS

“Time flies, never to be recalled”- Virgil By Victoria Zoha


Tired, Red Balloon

Tired was the red balloon deflated Wandering aimlessly through the sky, As time continued on. Not a care in the world did the big balloon bare such a tiny speck of color, The burst of cinnamon red among the clouds descended from the sky. Twisting, twirling the red balloon drifted down, and took a nap along side the blades of glass in an empty field


“Clocks slay time …time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.” – William Faulkner


Ticking Time The clock upon the wall Ticks away at the speed of light Telling the story of us all Hung in every hall The ancient time piece; nothing but an old sight The clock upon the wall When the boy had yet to call, You glanced at the clock each night Telling the story of us all Before it was known life lead to nothing more than a fall, You faced the clock in fright Trembling, teetering on the brink of tears, you began to bawl You sat, shoulders slumped, beneath your shawl Eternity of time, the longevity of the clock was barer of might Telling the story of us all


And there, at your emotional height You gazed at the ticking hands with a face full of spite The clock upon the wall Telling the story of us all

Girl On a ground covered in cracked gravel and shattered bottles There stands a girl Deliberating whether or not The ground cracks as easily as her mind A mind that is branded with memories she wishes she had forgotten Thoughts she wishes she could have slid into a glass bottle And willingly surrendered to a ravenous sea There stands a girl Too proud Too comfortable with the notion: That time would stop for her Far off in the mist The same girl See’s a fragment of hope Lurking in the distance The girl. Tattered dress, dirty shoes, eyes grey as tarnished pearls, simply waits for a gust of wind. A breeze of magic that will bite her ear and whisper: The rain shall too, subside. The wind has promised the girl a promise of time. The empty lot is now fertile enough Flowers will grow


Blooming in between the deep cracks of the beaten ground creating a garden of twisting tulips, intertwining daisies, and purple lilacs all holding hands with one another. Thoughts in her mind like ivy running up the side of brownstone Flourish into belief that the wind holds the power to rid the world of loneliness.

“Loneliness is the clearest of crystal insight into your own soul, it’s the fear of one’s own self that haunts the lonely.” -Keith Haynie


Permanence My mother once mentioned in passing Nothing is permanent 7 years old a big heart eating away within confines of a small body Blonde hair, pearl earrings Too short to touch the sky, I set out to prove her wrong Dragging a bucket of chalk behind me Colors just as those of a rainbow I scribbled everything is permanent On the newly paved driveway of our summer house Knees stained and colors My sloppy handwriting equaled a 7 year olds sudden fascination Rain clouds speeding in did not deter Efforts to convince a wise woman But little did I know As age quickly crept upon me with its wrinkled hands, nothing was more accurate than nothing is permanent, not even time.


“As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.” –Henry David Thoreau


Midnights Gem

It has come and gone The silver sun, now dissolved Dwindling among the depths of dawn As eyes gaze up towards midnight to fawn One day you’ll mention how you’ve evolved It has come and gone Sleepy minds with heavy hearts yawn Creased with worries soon to be solved Dwindling among the depths of dawn Midnight’s gem as valuable as a swan Turned its back and revolved It has come and gone The moons’ remnants are left strewn upon Why must she be so absolved? Dwindling among the depths of dawn Pearl of the night, your gleam so involved Until morning comes, you will have yet to be dissolved


It has come and gone Dwindling among the depths of dawn.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.� - Oscar Wilde


The Essence of Time is LONELINESS