Time, a verse in the making.
One part of a timeless flow,
One thing to accompany my warm ears,
Cold feet and a full glass of art, now half empty
By virtue of my drinking.
In lie, some try, I might, this virtue,
11:22, another time, moments gone,
Fading with the miniminutes in my pentameter,
Fading slowly without boundary or diameter.
Faded finally, all but free, this the reality of 11:23