Have you ever wondered why time
seems to mock you in pantomime;
without any reason or rhyme?
Souring life like a tart, overripe lime
almost patronizing you in mime.

You might consider it a crime,
as you bury your integrity in the grime.
Blaming your obscurity on the slime.
Yet, you actually believe in your prime;
that the divine is the silver dime.

The answer to your steep, treacherous climb.

As you approach your destination you find,
that your obstacles are of hard, cold Lyme!
Then suddenly you realize that all the overtime
will continue to ring, clang and chime;
to only your own lonely paradigm.

For you have not scented or smelled the thyme
and rosemary that spoke to you in the sublime.
Dragon Speak lost to heat that activates the enzyme...
As 'twas you who chose not to see the drawn line
of a world moving on without you like a good wine

as time...