The Tyrant of Time

Is the ticking,
In my heart or my brain?
The faucet dripping,
Now my life circles the drain.

As I reach out,
For the driftwood of my soul,
Thrashing wildly about,
I can't seem to grip or hold,
In the violent rapids of this drought.

Time drifts swiftly away,
Washing up on the shore.
Of my feelings at bay,
Too many questions to implore.

Of a life without purpose.

As the clock steals my hands,
Quenching its own selfish affinity.
I fail miserably to understand,
The grand scheme of time and infinity.

And deduce wearily that it's hopeless.

In a losing power struggle,
About things I can't grapple.
I am forced to hug and snuggle,
All my failures and pitfalls.

But they offer me no comfort.

While the clock laughs in my face,
With its swirling moustache,
At a life vandalized and defaced,
Dragging my decayed body from the trash.

Listening as this spiritual symphony disconcerts.

Trying so hard to grasp this,
An existence long lost and wasted.
I forgot that I am still armless,
The acrid flavour of defeat I have tasted.

Surrendered to sin, I've lost my soul.

I am eternity's little whipping girl,
Gagged, strapped, and bound.
Perversely it plays with her whirl,
Alas a slave, too late I have found.

That time is always in control...