Time; at the console of our universe.
Using it's lumberjack hands to fiddle the buttons.
Using it's musk to scare away any potential.
For once it succeeds, it's vice like grip only tightens.
Spiders caught in their own web, left to ponder at the injustice.
Crying at a wrong doing has the same affect as smiling.
Only it doesn't. For the smile brings upon chance.
When the harsh reality snaps at your fingers,
Realising that any broken mind can imprint on its own behaviour.
At that moment, street lights brighten,
The spider gains footing.
The Man of time becomes the woman of life.
More gentle, more forgiving.
This is a poem I created after being inspired by some of Philip Larkins poetry. I found that he was always focussing on the negatives. I created the portrait of how basic life is. And how time is what controls us. But then by the end I've swayed my own mind into seeing that this shouldn't be seen as a negative. We should instead cherish the time and make the most of it. It's then that we find true happiness and that time becomes an asset and a friend.