Tick tock

Slippery time an ephemeral ghost, evasive to grasp, swimming in murky waters 

Frippery rhyme's riposte, unfastening a poet's clasp, skimming froth of auteurs, 

Unwinds metaphor from time's spool, sung as it leaves hour's tongue 

Woven words, patterns of meaning cloven from inked feathers of birds wrung

Avian blood, letters flood from broken wings of minutes spent

Red seconds flow on mud, a token, that brings life, comminutes rent 

From fragments assembled, faux reality resembled utopia long desired

With hands that trembled millennia trebled now old, cold and tired  

If you've understood each word the meaning you will get

If not, that's good the feathers of the bird preening are just a vignette