Wasted Time
        by Sarah Elizabeth Hume


  Think of all the time that is gone,
  the minutes that have died and turned to naught but dust
  like the petals of the roses you gave so long ago.
  These are ashes that we cannot retrieve,
  to piece a broken clock that has every working part but
  one.

  You cannot rewind the hours that are wasted
  as I lie here beside an empty pillow,
  only coldness to hold,
  empty air to kiss.
  And what will you do when the clock has ceased altogether
  and I am where the ashes now lie?

  Will you long for me then?
  Will you wish for my hand to kiss?
  Late will be the hour love as my name floats 
  like a whisper through gently blowing grasses
  and fields of wild flowers,
  when the earth shall bless my skin and caress my bone.

  What then will you do?
  Will you pray to change the moments,
  long since decayed?
  It shall all be in vain
  like my senseless stroking of an empty pillow
  that holds no scent of you,
  and comfort shall be but a bleak day dream.