Time,
a Masked Thief
who comes in the night.
Stealthy Rogue,
slipping surreptitiously into souls,
secreted behind eyes,
suffocating the spirit,
stealing away with the Sprightly and the Spry.
Prowling unseen through bedroom windows,
like vapor
he comes to the rape of the Chaste.
Maidenheads pillaged during sleep,
looting not complete until
all of Virtue laid waste.
Callous Knave,
despoiling the Innocent,
cries and protestations go unheard.
Venus plundered,
Virginity deposed,
Aphrodite usurped,
maimed and disfigured.
The Robber bag teeming now,
contraband of Youth
smuggled
into the dark of night.

Time,
a Temptress enchanting,
promising Youth Eternal.
Pandora peddling pots of brightly coloured powders,
jellies and jars,
and bottles of heady elixirs.
Sirens perch atop looking-glass,
singing hymns of lasting Beauty,
bewitching arias and beguiling whispers,
even Odysseus felled and feeble.
The Seductress charms,
voice over-sweet,
with vows of Infinite Youth,
covenant of Abiding Life,
words more honeyed than a lovers’.
But her oath of Spring Eternal
commands a punishing tithe,
for Muse this Mistress must first become
if Time be tamed and loyal.
Time’s living inspiration,
embrace her,
adore her,
fall on knees to her,
and Apollo steals from Persephone.
Whole hearts
this Delilah covets,
devotion that is blind,
possession
until Spring relents
and Samson’s curls lay strewn
’bout the ground.

Time,
a Jailer Cruel,
ever present Warden.
Keys mocking and unreachable,
walls impenetrable,
unscalable.
Custodial bars of steel,
clutches that will not be loosed,
jaws that will not relinquish,
tentacles that bind and confound.
The prisoner delivered into sweeping hands,
the tyranny of the Clock
a Jailers’ best ally,
a ticking Despot,
a savage Deputy.
This Timekeeper brutish in nature,
ticking-tocking hands
become razor sharp fists,
poised to punish,
mar flesh.
The unforgiving touch of Time’s proxy ,
with each movement
crevices into skin ever deeper,
ever wider,
channels and hollows mutilate faces,
exorcising Strength and Vigor.
Body and Soul inmate now,
captive,
with each drift of wicked fingers
etching Time’s passage in skin.
Tick tock.

Time,
the Covteous Mistress,
yearning of Springtime.
Budding Infancy of the Young
a delicate feast,
the Shrew aching
to glut upon.
Suckling from the teat of Innocence and Virtue,
her greedy lips overwhelm engorged Naivety,
milk of the Animated,
golden nectar of Hebes,
so sweet on lips eager.
Harridan lust nourished,
weaned
on a sweet philter of Juvenescence,
the Pure,
the Guileless,
her captive nursemaids.
Supping on the first Bloom of Youth and Beauty,
her ravenous teeth covet hungrily,
burning with desire
she seeks her remedy,
feeding on Grace.
The Fruit over-ripe now.
Glowing sheen of its skin faded,
pocked with molding black bruises,
tormented and withered with deep furrows
until flaccid in body without viscera.
The Bitch finally sated,
gorged on the passion of Youth
she is Young again,
but all else are now grown old.