I've been thinking about "time" lately as who knows when their time is up? Would I be satisfied if I died tomorrow? I have a wonderful family, boyfriend and some very close supportive friends. I live in this wonderful country in peace and warmth. I have a passion for my poetry and my artwork. I am undertaking a fascinating course taught by staff who have been so supportive of me during times of difficulty with my shoulder injury. I have all these wonderful blessings but there seems to be something missing.

A book is missing. Either an anthology of my average poetry, or the gift of many years needed to finish the novel, "The Girl Next Door." Then I would be satisfied in leaving this world, knowing that a part of me would be timeless in my family for subsequent generations. But if any thing untoward should happen I've left the most treasured part of me here for you -- the average part; the real me. Please embrace it.

Time has never been a friend of mine --
It's struck me down
Time and again
And then some more
With each time worse than that before

Just when I've decided to not let its passing
Bother me so
Then the days go by
Like fighter planes ripping through the sky
Their passage too difficult to trace
Leaving holes and an empty place in my heart.
Perhaps it's better to care than to part time
From this consciousness of mine.

With the death of this internal clock
Life on Earth will instantly stop
Just for me ...
But will the clock of the world
Strike 12 and clang,
Tolling my passing,
Or will apathy toll 
As time strolls nonchalantly on by
Without even missing a single beat --
The clock tick continuing to propel
Hands routinely around the face
Massaging tired etchings all over the place
With multiple heads to pillow
Aside from mine.
Leaving only fading memories behind --
To also pass with time ...
Is the current controlling pace of the clock
A sign ...
Or just the grime of this modern time?

The over-worked woman with depression,
The insecure man seeking yet another mansion,
And others say that money equals time.
Not in my world where even if time
Were infinite for me
No more money would I ever see,
Smell or touch
Nor would I care when
Any extra money would just be too much
To waste on selfish pursuits
Bearing only the most bitter of fruits
Within poisoned time.

The woman cooped up in her pent-house with out a smile,
The man who can't find a fast enough car,
And others soon realise what they've lost --
Not money but quality time
And obedience to money time is not the only cost
But just a distraction in being
With it's ruling power
Hour by time-consumed hour
We've each at sometime
waged our war with others and time
And time's always won
And by then we've only but lost some
Of life's most precious commodity

The woman who's slept with too many men,
The man who's too lonely to just be alone with himself,
And others say, it's okay, love just takes time.
Well perhaps we're not all patient for that,
And even when presented to us,
Engraved in gold,
It soon tarnishes with time
To reveal it's true substance
And then we dispose of it so easily
Like it has no value of worth
Whilst we're so blindingly obsessed
With this crazily unanimous notion
That money equals time.

[And even for some money equals a rhyme -- 
do it for love and not what you can get from it : )]

Through presently unclear
In many years and possibly long miles from here
When now is then
And all the fragments 
Previously placed insecurely
With jagged edges -- (how to make them knit?)
Over the years have come to fit
Together to yield the bigger picture
And then it will all be made clear --
I'll be sitting next to you dear 
(Whom ever you may pass to be)
And we'll surely begin to see
That every thing when said and done
Or redone, or even undone
Has its purpose in the plan
Founded with our love for eternity
For each other and our family
To also guide when youthful paths to traverse are unclear
And promise that the time of truth will be near
Because we surely know
The places they must, after us, go.

Through a young child's eyes
Things should move faster, be wilder,
Always impatiently awaiting adult privileges
To only then discover the responsibilities
That come with a child of one's own,
Shortly followed by the emptiness when they're all grown
And long left home ....
By then gravity has long lost its fit
Bones ache and crunch
And a day is what you've made for lunch,
While watching your grandchildren play
Dreaming you're young in body again,
Wishing you could let them know
It's okay to let time pass by ever so slowly
But how? 
As now the hour drags on without a clue.

Fingertips wildly grasping the boundary between
Childhood and the many years beyond 
Staring into the distance
To the big, busy world
And trying to grasp its meaning
In a childhood context
Of black and white
And mummy and daddy 
Will always set things right
Now the storm clouds are so pink and rosy
And the parched grass is ever so green ... every where
Gold-pot studded rain-bows grace the perimeter
Of this childhood suburban world 
(even amongst the juxtaposition of the decaying rubbish of those filled with greed,
and the desolate cries of those filled with startling need)
Where dreams are bred like rabbits
And are believed as truths
Spurring an endless curiosity
To explore beyond parental allowed
Not content to just witness the world roll on by
But wanting to hop, skip and jump, then run with it
Leaving dust in her tracks
And an eventual relieved set of parents
With proud tears to moisten weary eyes
But will these feet likewise become weary
Then scuff aimlessly at the dust of dreams
Growing up often in this modern time means
That things are far from the joy and excitement
That they once seemed
But we can only hope that at old age
She too will look wistfully into the past
Reliving the excitement of what the young years saw
Well into the present
With a heart that never grew weary
Accompanied by a soul without regret
And without fear for the path to come yet
Beyond the final boundary
between now and eternity.