Poetry title: Time is running out

 It's too late.

Too late to miss me or miss myself 

I agree there was a time

I was into those things

madly, wildly, passionately

devoted to craziness,

that led me to 

a pond of crying ripples

where my eyes dazzled in pain

and I cajole the joy is still

a long await. 

Time is running out,

I am panting, sweating

It's funny, how

restless I could be even though

I am standing still,

leaves moving

following the wind.

I am still standing

waiting for another siren,

hoping if I could see one

final glimpse.

And I didn't know time is

running out.

Why would it wait? 

Stupid me!

It doesn't have hard feelings. 

It doesn't have soft corner for my agony.

It doesn't care. 

It doesn't hesitate to purge the days 

not minding if I get older

with wrinkles 

forming my face,

my hair turns grey.

Time runs out minding

it's business. 

sitting across the window,

blowing out the snowy 

breeze, tracing fingers 

in shape of hearts

hoping that he would 

text me someday,

that he misses me 

as much I swear on 

my frail vision 

whimpering for his return. 

Time is running 

out along with seasons

changing colors and 

clouds migrating destination,

but there isn't a fairytale 

morph. 

I chased for straight A's 

to earn better job,

I ran miles to get great 

health,

I chased him to 

get a family of my own.

With only fear for time running 

out, I ran, chase, ran, chased again 

with results that shook me;

harsh and memorable. 

Time is running out,

with each passing second 

I realized, I learnt a lesson 

from mistakes.

I fixed myself with wounds decorating

my soft arms,

to run again with crippled feet 

cause the time says "you can do it" 

and when people actually 

mocked my dying piece of 

soft smile, 

I cried with each passing second,

played with time again,

flew the kites with it,

we wrote poetry together.

While the time is running out,

I ran along with it 

and the transition to evolution

is truly a gift.