Footed

I really hate the way time ticks along
Without a care, as if it didn't matter.
I wish that I could stop it - it feels wrong
To knuckle to its constant pitter-patter
And let it own me. Why should every day
Follow the old and make it all anew?
Why must we moult our skin and throw away
The day in which we did what we must do
Again tomorrow? Most of all, oh why
Must we pass on from what and where we were,
Leaving behind the paradise gone by
For what will come? I would so much prefer
To find a niche beyond time's hand and wait
Forever in that blissful, happy state.