Timed

Time is running out,
in slivers, quite volatile.
Flecks of sand flying downcast,
down the hourglass,
beneath your tongue's wit.

Seconds are parting from you,
one by one, tick-tock-tick.
Minutes and hours and days, they have their own will;
you're in shackles to that.

So free yourself of time,
ignore it, deny it.