time is being robbed from me.
task is a boastful thief.
it leaves pieces of my soul astray;
unkempt and cluttered.
entangled with foreign thought and feeling.
you see, this varies from time to time
as time its self slips by too fast
and i do not have a handle.
i long to reach through the obscure, push past the commotion
and find my grasp; to discern the light.
for me, it requires images, and often words to accompany.
-the most beautiful thing about the future:
it hasn't happened yet-