*A glosa is a form that pays tribute to another poet. It borrows lines from his or her poem to end each stanza of the glosa’s four 10-line stanzas.
Rubbing its back upon the window panes ;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet ;
There will be time to murder and create.
-T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
In its heart it holds
stolen moments.
Streams of seconds
run through its veins,
muscles of minutes
wrapped around hollow bones.
It stretches, falling
like shadow over ancient stones
prowls carelessly, leaving smudges and stains,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes.
Quietly stalks
sheltered in silence,
a kind of muted violence
In darkness it steals minutes
tears seconds from life
like flesh from bone
in its greed takes hours,
even days months and years
Always invisible, Time
is appetite and crime.
There will be time, there will be time
Creates rifts
in lives, leaves
skeletal memories
fragile fragments
of remembrance
people staring at their feet,
misunderstanding and Time hanging
between them like a wall.
Time, insufficient, ever incomplete
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet ;
In a cruel twist of fate
it stands still
claws retracted,
curls up in a corner
suddenly sedate
leaving life
stuck on repeat
awaiting the end
so make your choices choose your fate
There will be time to murder and create.
Silent Voices 