Fluttering lightly on the wings of
I duel with time.
We fight like lions over the reins
of my tattered life.
Time- a silent foe bent on thieving with its
Yet my hands are far from clean-
volatile and mean, a dirty gleam
long to clarify the blood beating in
heal my shame,
a reversal of my fate.
God I pray
there is still time,
Swirl a fantasy like good wine
around my mouth:
precious peace will rise from the ruins
of this war.
But the devil wants his due,
and all my sins I fear
I’ll never lose...
still I fight.
Note- this poem was written for a challenge at Poets Who Blog. I had to incorporate these ten words: