Stopping Time
Morning, noon and night,
It just keeps coming
And passing me by,
No matter what I do.
I’m reduced to sitting
With my back against the
Number six and my feet out
Straight, firmly planted in place
Holding the hands of time at bay.
My left hand holds the second hand,
Which pulses in my palm.
How long I can stay here
I don’t know.
My back is in pain and
My arm is starting to cramp.
I look at the pulsing second hand
Planted firmly in my fist and realize
That I’m so busy stopping time
That life is passing me by.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
Roy W. Backes - Poetry 