The Clock

Love is nothing
but a dream.
Slowly tearing
at the seam.

Soon forgotten,
soon replaced,
by sadness,
sorrow and disgrace.

If nothing more
than fantasy,
then let my love
come back to me.

This unfortelling
and uncontrolled,
untimely time,
is unfortold.

We do not
control the clock.
The time is racing by,
but soon it all will be forgot,
in this untimely demise.