Bare Bones

Time is relative to what we need
Or rather, what we want; it dawdles on
When expectations gang up to exceed
Our mere reality, but it is gone
Faster than wished for when desire is such
As makes necessity of a delay.
I therefore do not trust in time too much,
Although I love it in my own small way,
Relying on its passage to achieve
Accomplishments I cannot do alone:
Extinguishing the pain for which I grieve,
Or sprouting seeds I long ago had sown.
If it were absolute, I'd trust it more
Since what's to come would mirror the before.