I often wonder when time became
more hare, than turtle?
When meandering was the choice of speed
and not the rush of life.
The truthfulness to this question,
is hard for me to answer.
I suppose we all wear
Is mine that obvious,
the scarlet letter amid time wasters?
I hold myself aloft,
fearing the mirrors truth.
Fettered to the insecurities
which roam freely within,
I'm limp, weak and
still wondering about the days which have passed.