Poetry

The hands on the face of the clock 
sweep by at an erroneous pace...


Like time with Myself,do I feel 
completely,out of place.

Powerless in life in days in numbers 
ranging in more than thrice...
Makes One cringe,when trying to 
cope and suffice.

Warranties are useless when 
involving a car dealership....
Even the extended ones,are 
logically held a-slip.

A-slip in expired faces of 
timed disrupt....
Can seem to leave all,in 
it's path,unevenly corrupt.

Bowled away by time,as 
always unerring....
None other than it's 
villainous being,ever 
so evil and unsparing. 

Uncaring...
Yet, despairing. 

Time leaves all left aloft....
Maybe with an 
unwary-self all lazy and soft.

Traveling of time,inbound....
Wholly whole and solidly sound.

Time travel....
Sure of common sense,
to unearth and unravel.

Carelessly wounded in 
time's own trap....
Helplessly left to,
scrape and scrap.

Help! Help! Help!
Yelp! Yelp! Yelp!