I know time won't pause and i won't move.

Eliot Eliot Eliot- You are my Prince and everything else.

How wrong is it, to that, give time? (Title)

a squirrel crawled up on my leg
so deep in thought was i
that it, i barely felt
odd, for so much time had been spent
at age eight, in chasing them
their friends, cousins and foes.
chasing them all on foot, at times alone.

today, so deep was that meditative thought
that it sneaked up on me so
did it too feel, the moments blazing intensity?
i patiently waited for it to flee(to go)
(for a man was 'it', or a woman she?)
but imagine my surprise
when it chose instead, to touch me

its tiny paws, fell light on dark denim
cautious footsteps yet unaware of my presence
Is this what they mean
when we're asked to wait?
for heaven to gently fall at our feet
in a heavily engraved metal plate?

What was its intent? i mused
for when i moved
it too scampered away
and i wondered
what would have happened
had it, the courage to stay.
-----

I guess you would call the above a symbolic poetic free verse attempt. Or 45 minutes alone in the chaupal with music post-eliot class.
Is it a rape of emotions to cut them into little pieces and feed them to uncomprehending beasts?

"I'm inhaling the poems whole with no restraint. Letting them rest on my own self, creating acidic reactions like black petals which refuse to melt into the redness of the raw skin. With Prufrock's indecisiveness i sway."-

Ironically, this has been the most vocal i've ever been in any post. Ever. And yet i won't be shocked if no one ever 'gets' it. Guess you gotta be the writer and no one else to know to know EXACTLY what it all means strung together the way it is.