sonnet

The ships embark; they’ve got somewhere to go,

The planes lift off, away today they fly.
What’s the rush? seems like the last hello
to a story barely begun – goodbye.
Early endings bred this bitter farewell,
what-ifs and who-knows of what could have been.
Always the time to go, so chime the bells,
the rude dictators of our every when.
You count the hours, time’s edges frayed,
the minutes add up, but never enough
for the tempo of your reign, so we fade.
This is not what it is to be in love.

The clock can wait, its debts we can borrow.
Just once, let’s leave it all for tomorrow.

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Just a few thoughts lately about finding composure and happiness within the rush of life.