The Time Thief

I love poetry
Depending on who reads this, reactions may differ
Maybe a furrowed brow, a whispered and exasperated “why”
Maybe a large smile, a vigorous nod in agreement
I love poetry
But right now I don’t like it at all

I don’t like poetry because it’s stealing something precious from me:
Time.
It’s stealing my time unapologetically
While I caudal and pamper these words on a page
My time is being knocked over the head and stuffed into a bag
Driven away in a large, white van
Never to be seen again

I love poetry
I would spend the rest of my life
Pondering ways to fit different words together
Imprinting messages between the spaces of letters
But right now poetry’s my father
Punishing me for something I didn’t do
Right now poetry is my best friend
Keeping a secret from me

I have piles of unfinished work stacked like a brick upon my chest
Trying to see if my lungs can touch my spine
Consensus: They can’t
But the brick won’t come off, the experiment continues
And I have a conclusion
I breathe better with time

But time keeps slipping away
Right through my busy fingers
While I try to catch water in a strainer
Try to fend off greedy robbers
Poetry kneels before me
A friend to bear the weight
But it’s nothing more than an added brick
A thief entering my vault

I love poetry
But it has stolen from me