These days for instance,
Time seems to be the slowest on earth’s surface
Running in slow unimaginable pace
It crawls away; taking yesterday’s place
The sun rises each day, upon this grotesque land
And then they all desert the yard
Men, women, young and old
In solitude, left alone to wander the hood
Afore my modest wristwatch, I sat
Like a frustrated merchant in Aduke market
Guarding time as it sneaks away bit by bit
Into oblivion; into the dark – the dark night
Then they returned like soldiers from war
Weary as if their day was marred by enfeebling tour
Each strayed to bed, again in solitude laid behind the door
Guarding time till slumber began to pour
Morrow will rise the sun
And then the ballad will begin
Again! And again and again and again
Till this respite be gone
(feel free to title this poem with whatsoever name you think it deserves)
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