Poems about Time

Time waits for no man and these Poems about Time are no different so let's get started!
They are free and for non commercial use only!







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Poems about Time
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The timing of the heavens
Is perfect in everyway;
Ever since the Aztecs
Time is measured every single day.

The sun and the moon
Are the hands on our clock;
The stars fill in the seconds
The universe face our plans unlock.

The time that is wasted is
The time that is sad;
We don't have enough of it
To be very bad.

Tubes and trains and metros galore
Places to go and people to see;
Schedules to run and keep to
Is where I'll make the memories for me
Maggiemay

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Tick...Tock

The golden pendulum sways methodically
Demanding thought and respect for an action that should not be
As the clock ticks, time passes unnoticed
By those who are consumed to overflowing

Patience, a quality once prevalent, is in want
Whirls of color blur past, rendezvous at the grave; too late
Too late to appreciate the simplicities
Too late to appreciate the sensations; enveloping at every turn, breath

Born, live, die...Born, live, die
The pinkness of a newborn, the healthy glow of success, the grayish, earthy tint of death
As we transition through shades, our life shortens with each turn of the color wheel
Not enough time, never enough time

Float on the clouds, paint the skies, glide down a rainbow
Pause and breathe in the elements
A pendulum's movement is not altered by one's inability to observe the fragility that is humanity
Let each tick...tock define a moment cherished, unforgotten, frozen in time
Cassandre Smith

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Poems about Time
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"Do you remember when"
Starts many a fine tune or story;
Embellishment and exageration
Brings it to it's full glory.

I always think I have more than enough
To get all the jobs done I've planned;
So I suppose they'd get called excuses
Perfection is difficult I do understand
Maggiemay

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Time, thy name is sorrow, says the stricken
Heart of life, laid waste with wasting flame
Ere the change of things and thoughts requicken,
Time, thy name.
Girt about with shadow, blind and lame,
Ghosts of things that smite and thoughts that sicken
Hunt and hound thee down to death and shame.
Eyes of hours whose paces halt or quicken
Read in bloodred lines of loss and blame,
Writ where cloud and darkness round it thicken,
Time, thy name.
- II -
Nay, but rest is born of me for healing,
So might haply time, with voice represt,
Speak: is grief the last gift of my dealing?
Nay, but rest.
All the world is wearied, east and west,
Tired with toil to watch the slow sun wheeling,
Twelve loud hours of life's laborious quest.
Eyes forspent with vigil, faint and reeling,
Find at last my comfort, and are blest,
Not with rapturous light of life's revealing
Nay, but rest.
Algernon Charles Swinburne

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Poems about Time
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When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
William Shakespeare

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An Appointed Time For Everything

For everything there is an appointed time,
even a time for every affair under the heavens,
a time for birth and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot what was planted;
a time to kill and a time to heal;
a time to break down and a time to build;
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to wail and a time to skip about;
a time to throw stones away and a time to bring stones together;
a time to embrace and a time to keep away from embracing;
a time to seek and a time to give up as lost;
a time to keep and a time to throw away;
 a time to rip a part and a time to sew together;
a time to keep quiet and a time to speak;
 a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace.
What advantage is there for the worker in
what he is toiling at?
 King Solomon Ecclesiastes 3

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Poems about Time