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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2103328
A procrastination poem. Third place winner in Newbie contest. Tweaked a little. Thanks.

Through open windows, I see prison walls
Not built with stone or iron or rods
A foggy mixture blending space and time

Space being measured and ruled
Conquered with power and will
Time is different, without feeling or grace

Marked, by the ever moving clock
Never allowed to change its pace
Mocked, by the tick and the tock

Neither saved nor, interest earned
It's simply given to treasure or to burn
This instant! NOW! Becomes then!

Forever in the past with no end!
Here's the question, my friend.
So when?

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