Time

Time is a commodity    
I can no longer afford
When I was young    
the concept of time    
had little meaning  
The days seemed to last forever  
Upon occasion,    
I was magically transported through time,  
falling asleep on the sofa,  
but waking up in my own bed.  
I liked the way my mother  
 would wake me in the mornings,  
rubbing my back softly  
and saying “Come on sweetie,    
It is time to get up.  
You have to get ready    
and go to school”.  
As an adult, alarms would wake me  
to get ready for work.  
My wife’s alarm played dainty  
music soft and sweet.  
I could easily sleep right through that.  
However, my alarm was loud and obnoxious,    
the kind that could wake the dead  
as if some calamity had just happened.  
It made me spring to life in a mad panic  
Saying, “Where’s the baby?!”  
when I didn’t even have a baby!  
Now, in old age I am awake far beyond    
what the alarm is set for.  
My aged body not letting me sleep  
As if it is telling me  
I haven’t got time to sleep,  
that I should instead be productive,  
do something, create something,  
travel and see something,  
be someone,    
the person I’ve always wanted to be,  
the person I should have been    
If I only had a little more time.