Patterns, Patterns seen, felt and heard,
some imaginary, some absurd.
Some are real and some deceive,
some are made to make us believe.
~
Time has a pattern, we call it time.
Life has a pattern, two sides of prime.
Joy’s pattern runs every other cycle.
The space between varies by psychal.
~
Identifying patterns is a chore or a game.
Seen from afar they all look the same.
Personal patterns are for us to decide.
Why be camo with nothing to hide?
~*~
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Old faces with familiar habits,
stare at me from the past.
The memory’s now so far away.
Their lessons now close at last.
~
A wrinkle in time times many,
blur the scars of choice.
The bleeding now in disguise.
The heart now sees its voice.
~
A ticking clock ticks equally.
Its hands know no master.
Moments are for all to share.
The habitual consumed faster.
~
Pontiication’s a double edge sword,
thoughts dissected but time’s cut.
A balance is needed but not to weigh.
But to digest what’s in thy gut.
~*~
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If today were to be my first,
where would my path lead?
Would it be a quest for good,
or a race for lust and greed?
~
If today were to be my last,
what regrets must I endure?
Would there be too few to count,
or too many to be sure?
~
If today I could have chosen,
why wouldn’t it be the same?
Would a quiet day with friends be best,
or to suffer tomorrow’s shame.
~*~
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While searching for time I lost my mind.
With days to pass I’ve seconds to find.
A second helping or a second chance,
my heart’s ticking my feet yell dance.
~
Nature’s music fills my ears.
A show of hands notes the years.
A watch found strikes back at me.
Its shattered face says nothing’s free.
~
Beneath this glass all is well.
Time moves on and yet still I dwell.
Alarm bells ringing, my hour’s been found.
Wind me up, I’m timely bound.
~*~
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Where is the forest that once gave shade?
Where is the light when all’s been grayed?
Where is the love of friends once made?
Where is the value for what’s been paid?
Where is the time when memories fade?
Where is the end, will I be afraid?
~*~
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Mowers, blowers and flame throwers, it’s time to clean my yard.
Spring is here, just once a year, so it’s really not that hard.
Leaves and weeds and other debris will all just disappear.
And it only takes an hour or so, but my neighbors all live in fear.
~
The police get called and a laugh we share, when the yelling’s done.
The officer gave the thrower a try and had never had such fun.
The smoke finally clears; my work is done; it’s time now to relax.
I think I’ll wear shorts today and take off these flame-proof slacks.
~*~
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rhymesalot 