Dear Time:
Your linear passage is ruthless.
We notice this early, but don’t grasp it til it’s too late.
Your strict adherence to forward motion is maddening, and yet reliable.
It is a gift, in fact,
For we must flow with you, while
we foolishly ache to change you
(as if we could).
We cling to you, but you move at lightning speed.
We can’t hold on.
We spend you like there is no end
to you.
Waste you.
Take advantage of you … like you’re giving it away for free.
We kill you. And then beg for more.
For mercy.
Our love for you, Time, is a comedy.
Our abuse of you is tragic.
Be stingy with us, Time, as you would an ungrateful child.
But be loving, for we sigh (weep even) when we lose you.
We are just simple travelers, Time.
Greedy, yes,
But hopeful.
Never meant anyone harm.
Least of all you.
and yadda yadda, an aliyah blog 
All that’s left is to suck everything we can out of the time we’re given. Sometimes, I look behind me and feel like I’m still five years old. I thought I’d never be twenty, let alone 44………
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Now there’s good imagery. Time as my left boob — completely sucked dry!
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It’s funny that you wrote a poem about time. I just ran into him the other day. We spoke; he told me some really goofy jokes. I guess his timing was off or something. But then he became serious. He told me how he felt misunderstood. “You humans have no idea what you’re talking about; you think that time goes forward. You say that you feel it. Well here’s a NEWS FLASH: I don’t move forward at all; your minds trick you into thinking I do. I just stand around enjoying the present. It’s you nut jobs who run, run, run like hamsters on those treadmills.” As he really sounded down I gave him a card and told him to call me to make an appointment. He politely gave it back to me, “ever since you psychologists decided that an hour is fifty minutes long I’ve got no time for you people”.
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Awesome!
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