time, wonderous time
heals so beautifully,
but never in a straight line
every now and then
I try to grab you and think that you are mine
you escape my hands,
like quicksand
and faster than that
how I wish you would stand still
even though you’re everywhere
but nowhere
seems to flow
in my blood and through my veins
from the moment I took my first breath
till when I will breathe my last
and through the tides of my past, present and future
you ebb and flow
and sometimes outstretching endlessly
further than all the seas
and all i seem to ever do is lament:
as soon as you bite, you withdraw.

but what if i turn to dust
in this very moment?
all the things i would want to say
would have to be buried along with me
and turn into ghosts;
wasted potential of what could have been
but never was
makes you think and overthink
how, if one thing could be different,
would everything be different?