1st Place, As Time Goes Bye, Fiona Landau

As Time Goes Bye

 Babes in arms don’t care for times weight. They live in the moment and don’t rise to the bait. 

No thought of tomorrow or image of harm. No worry for sorrow to sound the alarm.

They don’t pay attention to the mother of invention or father times penchant for future intention.

Happy to not notice the tick from the tock. Wrapped up in the present and content with their lot.

 

 The wiser the child, the more cautious they tread. Reminded of manners and prayers before bed.

Carefree abandon too soon ran its course, as the joy they once cared for was taken by force.

Day in and day out, too many to mention, memories blended to scratched reels for retention.

Time to grow up and forget childish things. Stand out at your peril and see what that brings.

 

 Nothing in between with the angst of the teen, the fruits of their labours remain to be seen.

Their moment’s stand still, yet lasts forever, immortal and awesome and overly clever.

Sprouting ideas left, right and center, cares not a jot for the chagrin of the mentor.

They surely and truly do seize the day, and they’ll live forever with tomorrow so far away.

 

Somewhere along the line you set yourself solid. Worked yourself silly to stave off things squalid.

Stuck in mud, you bent with the wind. Sold yourself short while the wiser man grinned.

You put your head in the sand as braver souls clamoured, as it’s the nail that stick that gets right royally hammered.

With babes at your feet and the mortgage to pay, middle age beckoned and did not go away.

 

Weary with effort from the slope of the hill. Worn down with reasons and not seeing time spill.

Held on to fates coat tails, but fell off in the rough, weighed down with baggage and poor-quality stuff.

It wasn’t so bad when balance with good, and times cheeky cousins of would, could and should.

That knot of contention can be massaged away, too late for the seizing, as it’s late in the day.

 

Regrets gather dust in your twilight years as you justify life in the light of your fears.

You could have done more or better or worse, made your song sweeter in chorus and verse.

Times you stayed silent and missed out on so much, fell back on excuses that you used as a crutch.

Words stuck in your throat, you just couldn’t say ‘em, and you’ll punch the next person that says ‘Carpe diem.’

 

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