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Dermot McGarthy


Killing Time


Of all the things he killed,
He regretted killing time the most,
During that long season of love,
When he played catch-up to the host.
Or in the period when he thought,
That art could somehow set him free,
As he kicked seconds into minutes,
He rolled them into hours,
Just to make people see,
That he was ruled by the tyranny of desire, and,
Conjoined hours with endless days did conspire,
To pursue anger and capture fear,
Building a citadel within,
As Sundays, seasons, and semesters in turn,
Were squeezed into the bin.

He even declined to turn every page,
As the inveterate fire within him blazed.
Rather skipping to chapter’s end,
As years were held ransom by decades,
With no rescue money to send.
Thus, that which he was killing,
Was really killing him,
Scripted by another’s hand,
From ringing out to ringing in,
Until the last lines that were written,
He stumbled upon aghast,
This time that they called 'forever',
Yet, he wondered,
Would it last?

Submitted: Saturday, March 30, 2013

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Comments about this poem (Killing Time by Dermot McGarthy )

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  • Freshman - 2,239 Points Patricia Grantham (4/25/2013 8:56:00 AM)

    A really good poem! Time waits for no man, we must use our time wisely
    or else we will get left out. Well thought out verses. (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 2,750 Points Hazel Durham (4/2/2013 8:59:00 AM)

    A very complex and interesting poem, there is so many facets of our character, emotions can control us beyond our will, destiny is in the hands of God.
    Brilliant lines, unresting and thought provoking (Report) Reply

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