Time

Time always slows down when you want it to go fast,
And it seems to speed up when you want the moment to last,
It loves standing still when you’re in a moment of sorrow,
And it won’t let today end when you wish for tomorrow,
It lets you catch the bus and miss the train,
It has you check it every second and therefore go insane,
It makes the bad memories stay as the good ones fade,
All the while tampering with the plans that you’ve made,
It adores making sure that nothing will work out,
Even when you had planned it without a doubt,
Time thinks it has influence but I think that it’s wrong,
When we are the ones who gave it power all along,
Time’s just a conception that we have created,
To make sure we’re not early and never belated,
An idea conjured up to help rules take control,
So we could never make a choice just because of our soul,
Taking incremental moments to keep an exact time,
So we could sit down all day and arrange events in a line,
Time is just a peasant to whom we gave power,
And now for some reason in its presence we cower,
Maybe if we stopped counting then we’d see the signs,
They say,
Wait I have to go I’m all out of time.