The clock's handbag

It's a blur,
Isn't it?
Life, I mean.
You skirt along like a midnight dream.
Tossed.
Pulled.
Lost...
Stuck in a current of wind whipped waves.
Blown like a leaf in the Autumn breeze.
It's funny,
Isn't it?
How time lies.
The days look so long, yet always they fly.
Here.
Gone.
Fear...
That time will slip through my fingers.
That memories will only serve to remind
Of life lived;
And love--lost.