Time is like a mean clock, like a fully charged locomotive with, with its tender topped with coals, its tender filled to the top with water, its fire ready hot, the boiler about to pop the safety valve. The clock charges on like mighty steam locomotive waiting for no one, its moves forward vigourously and waits for no one foolish enough to stand in its path. I am still young, but I understand that those days are numbered. I just wish the mean fiery hand on the clock would move just a little slower, to let me be younger longer. To catch up on the dreams, that I may have missed. Not to live in the past, but to have more time to recover and grown from mistakes made in the past. Time is a bomb like loud clicking clock, that cruelly waits for no one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem