Time

Time rolls by - it quickly moves along,

corridors, seconds march – silently ticking on,

minutes take a stroll, they dance by

as hours seem to flow, then swiftly, they fly.

As for me ?, at what speed ?, what about I ?

Am I - it seems to me – as slow and empty as the spaces ?,

that exist in-between – the cracks – there, but without traces.

Nothing am I or have done to fill those empty places,

of times passing, between the lines, the numbers on clocks faces

that have told us, life is short and we’d best be in good graces.

B. J. “A” 2

February 19^th 2003