Time. Poem by D.A. Woods

Roses in the spring time,
with the seasons that it brings.
Just like roses in the spring to autumn they wither and wilt.
We have more up and downs, this flowers life's running out of time,
and we have moved up the line,
gazing at nothingness like cattle waiting to die.
killing time.
Now I'm at the crossroads of my life,
I don't know which to route to take,
and loneliness is strife.
I'm mentally entwined.
I know which way I'd run to, if the choice was mine? !
The past is our knowledge,
the present our mistakes,
and the future we always leave too late.
I wish we'd come to our senses and let love be our food.
I can't promote the confusion for this ever changing moods.
Do they need me?
Is this just a game?
Do they love me?
Do they feel the same?
Do they want me?
Do they want me to walk?
Do they want me to talk?
Do they mean what they say?
Does in include today?
All I have is love somewhere, somehow their caught forever in their own changing moods.
I hope you come to your sense and let us be our food,
Forget the negatives and ever changing moods.