Time

An object so steady, can give such a rush
when I think I’m ready, to give life a hush
by closing my eyes and drifting to find
I am in a dream, where thoughts are so free.

The sound from a toy, that was made for more
will chime to remind, I am meant to find
the want to achieve, the goals I have seen
that keep me investing, until I am resting.

As I will live, this object will age
without ever showing a sign of decay.

Only the change, that comes with a season
will ever give reason, this object exists.

The way life will form, until it’s deceased
is the only way, I think it finds peace.

It’s always so busy, being so steady
we are never ready to say it will stop
from doing it’s norm of flowing unseen
until there’s a day, the normal is dead.

It is never sad, it is never mad
it is never happy, or even too sappy
it is only constant with doing its chore
of passing the time; it is such a trait, I truly admire.

Poetry Game

The answer to the last post was put underneath as usual and I will mark the reply with the correct answer with a smiley face like so: 🙂 So keep on trying until you get the mark and let your friends know what you are playing so that you can all try and tag team these mind games.  So here is the next poem for you to guess.  Enjoy

The seasons are my death
Yet they are also my life.
The breezes can be soothing
Although they are my strife.

Shades are never permanent
For boredom would be the result.
I refuse to stay the same
Yet my burden is conformity.

I will constantly watch from above
Until the time of my demise,
Just wait until another season arrives
And I’ll smile another surprise.

If there is one season I hate
It would be that of winter.
It continues to kill my family
Relentlessly filling its splendor.

What am I?
I am a leaf