Time is a glutton,
no pause in its diet.
Time is invisible,
except in heights marked
on a kitchen door,
candles on a cake,
tombstones in cemetery plots.
Time can not spin backwards.
Its lust for more seconds,
more days, more weeks,
more years, more decades,
insatiable.
Time eats each word I write.
Time, the ravenous glutton.
Image from Pixabay.com
lillian the home poet 
“Time is a glutton” – I feel this
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Dear Lillian,
I had just finished the first draft of an essay for part of this collection I have been writing and see your name on an email and gulp when I read, “Time eats each word I write. Time, the ravenous glutton.” And I imagine time, like a Pac-Man starting at the end and chomping its way through my words. My pain. My life.
Your words, so simple on the surface, carry a depth charge to them—to mix the metaphor.
Thanks. I think. m
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