Time

So many roles, so little time

It plays the thief, taking what it will

Next act it’s the soothsayer, telling what will be

Still it waits to steal the show as the master

Controlling us all

Pulling our strings

Forward through itself, never in reverse

Its inevitable expiration spells life’s curse

But we in turn use our experience

To fill it

Stuff it spilling over itself with memories

We choose the happiness to act as the bookmark

The only role that can repeat itself in this grand show

We decide ultimately what time means to us

And how we remember and in turn are remembered

For how we interacted with time

🕯️ Salon of the Mythweaver 🕯️

Weekly Writing Prompt

Time is one of life's oldest mysteries.

It heals and it wounds. It steals and it gives. It marches ever forward... unless someone finds a way back.

This week, write about time in whatever way calls to you.

Any genre. Any length. Any style.