Poetry: We Turn in Hours

We turn in hours.
A mass of consciousness revolving in space.
Time an abstract concept.
Yet it flows as sand from an hour glass.
A flower wilting before our eyes.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Where does it go?
We turn in hours.
We turn in…
We turn…




Diversified Writer

Darren is a short story and novella writer. He likes tall tales that have humour and heart. He’ll occasionally bring you poetry, finance and health blog posts.