Bruised by Time

We say time passes, but sometimes, it’s us who stay behind.

Everyone says that it’s just time,
it will pass.

Time has hours longing for minutes,
minutes chasing seconds,
and alas;

It feels like an eternity
for a bruise to go from
scarlet red,
to invisible,
to where it belongs -
free from all the dread.

They say the past never existed,
only the future will.
How time looks in my eyes,
and how tears start to fill.

Maybe time isn’t passing,
maybe it’s me who stands still;
counting the cracks on my wall,
as silence hums its will.

If time will pass,
why do I have to suffer
every hour,
every minute,
every second of it?

They call it healing; I call it blur;
the world keeps spinning,
yet I’m unsure
if I’m moving with it,
or watching it occur.

Before it all slips
between crevices of
here and there,
and alas, no one would
even seem to care.

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THY ELOQUENCE

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