With every hour

Upon awakening I quote
The Scottish play. Time
Creeps from, I say, then
Interject hour to hour.
Days, I say, are too long
I, whose mornings get 
Away from her, turning 
The corner at noon and
Too soon becoming an after
It's afternoon and where
Has my day gone, what is
It I have done with the
Promise mornings brought
How could it be that my
Leisurely pace sucked
Away the day's breath 
How could it suddenly
Be nearly two and I not
Ready to creep out to
Face the sunshine, I 
Misquote the Bard again,
From day to day, time
Creeps into all my 
Tomorrows. What have 
My days signified