Time

Missed

You are beloved and my
Love is in real time and 
For now time may be all
We have to account for 
Who we are and how we
Love. You, my beloved,
Not only lose time, you 
Also misinterpret it. The
Loss is hard. Time when
It's misplaced does not
Come back to us. You,
And I by your side, are
Loving in misinterpreted 
Time. If you think it's 6
When it is nine we lost 
Three hours we could
Really use to live and 
Love, to care, treasure.
It is our time slipping
Away, misunderstood.

There is a song that says it all

Who do you spend the most time with?

I am alone and by 
Myself. Alone but
Never lonely. By
Myself alone. It's 
A solo mission I'm
On, alone and by
Myself alone. You,
You are important.
To me. I value you.
Alone, by myself.

Time II

Time, when you misplaced it,
Lost its meaning. You skipped 
A beat, but time itself was
Unmoored. Its loss was ours.
Misdirected,  time is restless; 
Grows untimely and awkward. 
Time can run out while you're
Patting your pockets looking 
For it as if it were a set of keys.

Timely

A part of a series about time

Timeliness is a way to stay 
In the present. Presently, I 
Will explain why it may be 
Good when you get time to
Stay in the right now, now.
Right now, I present you a
Case for time standing still.

Timing

Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

It used to be, I would say, all in
The timing. Ask the comedian.
The funny guys know just when
A pause will draw a laugh or a
Puzzled look. Puzzled looks are
All we get when the timing goes.
Time runs ragged and is lost or
Just hard to track. Sometimes.
It used to be all in the timing.

Where has your time gone? 
How does yours slip away?
How does it morph, and
What makes it change?
How do you lose it in the 
Cracks between memory 
And distance? Why does
The time you feel feel 
So different from the time 
I know and have always
Known? My time tells a 
Straightforward story
No twists are taking it
Away from its narrow path
Yours veers right and left, 
Off by a half hour here, an 
Hour there. Sometimes it 
Homes in on a need or necessity 
That only reminds me of how 
Much time we both have lost

Running

Time runs on, 
That's what it
Does. Until we
Run out of it,
Time, that is.
It just keeps
Running, like 
A ticking clock.
You wouldn't 
Remember that
Sound, the one 
Of time running 
Out. The time
Marked by the
Hands on its
Analog face, each
Moment saluted
By a click of the
Second hand. It's 
An odd metaphor
Of time running
As a clock's hands
March on, in place.
Time is also said to 
Fly, but the measure
Of time sits on my
Arm or on the wall.
How can it be so
Fast, so fleeting?

Gone

Inevitably, it all passes
Sometimes, slowly like
A drifting cloud on a 
Windless day or as quickly
As a car race at LeMans.
Inevitably and without a
Warning, time steals away