Wasted Time

It’s Monday again –
days passing through
my hands like sand,
no receptacle in which
to catch the granules –
why this sense of urgency?

In high school, I played hooky
wiped away the hours in empty
places, sought answers for
questions I could not articulate,
chased dust while others formulated
dreams – how is this any different?

Am I not just recreating the pattern,
painting over efforts with adult hues,
donning the pretence of self-importance
while occupied with vapid tasks – time
continues to slip by, and what have I
to show for it other than incessant panic?

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

15 thoughts on “Wasted Time”

  1. Your words are beautiful, from their deeply personal origins to the strength of sharing them with the world. Thank you for doing that.

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  2. As the saying goes, ‘time stop for no one.’ I just turned 64, but my perspective has changed recently. Maybe because winter is almost over. I’m yearning for the rejuvenation that spring will bring. I can’t stop time, but I can build the moments and hope for a new horizon. Blessings to you. πŸ™‚

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  3. Your writing has a quiet power and energy. At 65, I’m stunned by how quickly time passes–I find myself avoiding sleep, as though I can hold onto the days longer that way…silly, of course πŸ™‚

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  4. You’ve put into words some of my own feelings at 71. Still so much I want to do, yet the days pass with so much undone. Everything takes longer….the body…even the will…doesn’t respond as it used to.

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