Slaves to steel wheels

Time.
That manufactured matter.
Born from the minds of men,
To be used as shackles,
For my soul.
Forcing me into corsets,
Too tight to wear,
Unable to fulfill,
The dictates of a clock.
He is my enemy.
He always has been.
Always shall.
I hate him for his ticking,
Persistent whine,
That clouds my brain.
That ticking.
On and on.
Will I be late again,
Or make it just in time?
I wish that he,
Were more my friend.
That he would spend,
His days measured,
In the growth,
Of trees,
Of flowers.
Not steely seconds,
Biting at my soul.

illuminated_letter__y_by_yushin_k-d2xkx60

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