Time Poem by Raz Nicholson

Sweet time you beat me every day,
you take your whip of feathers and flay me once again.
As i wake from peaceful slumber,
I feel the plumes dragged away,
the soft stroke of mortality, the start of every day.
The never ending search of the hungry,
to put the need to rest,
to go down into history seems to be the best.
Even the boffins say your whip will beat the sun to sleep,
then the earth, then life itself,
But your the only one that will see.
Oh hark now, here's the soul, surrounded by the flesh that's me.
It can out last your feathers, the moon, the sun, the stars
as long as i believe.