Razor-sharp,
Time slices into blunt edges
it sinks and lifts us,
adrift in the opium haze
of this waking world,
fueling the pulse of dreams
for a tomorrow still unborn.
Fragrant-cheeked,
Time kisses the air,
hugs us in passing,
vanishes like a mystic angel
testing the tongues of character,
probing the deep reservoirs
it alone can stir.
Elegant,
Time waits
nerve-tight and silent
as awards gallop nearer,
as rewards stretch farther
than our reach.
Pointer-needled,
Time flashes its tonics and torches,
paints over the wounds on walls,
seals the dim corners of memory.
It gifts us shocks and zeniths,
surprises wrapped in ash
to strike from the debris
those glittering truths
we hide beneath our lies.
