Nick Of Time

time swiftly flies
wings of steel and
calibrated always to
outrun us,
we, who do not mind much
what happens next,
we, who are left with
nothing to do
but wait, and wait

at the nick of time
we call it quits

i am not a circular thing
i am flat and without fins
wingless, i do not thrive in
the air
neither in water

i thrive on land
slowly, i walk
whistling

ah! let time go
i don't mind actually

it is nice being here
with you, anyway.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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