A Poem

Currently very happy, despite the long evening of homework ahead of me. Listening to Katie Melua.

How can time go this slow?
It takes such a time to sweep into the past.
Time stops, times starts, it has no flow,
As every single second seems to last.

How long does a week take to fly?
How long will it be until a free day?
Time never really passes us by,
But seems to slowen by the way.

Each silent second we wish to keep
Is haunted by the thought of those ahead.
Yet even though we do not weep
Memories of past times are dead.

So here we stand to the end
As every clock hand continues to wave
Slowly, surely goes round the bend
Until we realise we can’t be saved.