I confess I’ve buried someone.
Time’s rough hands controlled mine
as I picked up the heavy shovel
and buried the little girl.
Time is a cruel, heartless person.
He’s no ticking clock,
but the unseen killer of many.
No police would ever suspect him.
They never see the red remnants of life on his hands.
Time takes the lives of the aching and weary,
named Old Age for the elders.
Time takes the lives of energetic and innocent,
named Growing Up for the young.
I call him a murderer.
I tried to stuff Time into a fragile bottle.
He manipulated my hands, curled my fingers into claws,
gruesomely stuffing the little girl I once was
into that bottle, myself, a time capsule.
Time made everyone believe its capsules were
a nostalgic keepsake worth making, and I believed him.
but it only made me a killer.
A killer of my own self.
I confess: I’ve killed.
I was Time’s accomplice.
Yet when the time is right,
once I unearth that time capsule,
I’ll know I’ve healed from the pain of losing
the person Time forced me to take away from myself.