Where Does All the Time Go? | NaPoWriMo Day 4

I'm excited that after three days of making time to write, I'm already waking up to the question of, "What can I write today?" So here's my original poem for Day 4 of Poetry Writing Month:

Where Does all the Time Go?

Where does all the time go?

Does it take off with missing hair
pins and every second sock in-
to a hidden treasure trove
of all things lost?

Does it get swallowed up between
sentences and yawns during our
lunch-time (tick) talks?

Or does it hide in minute mouse
holes, or melt with Dali's clocks?

I tried to keep a watch on it,
but I just blinked and it had flown
around the world and back, cleaning
out my daylight savings bank.

I was about to give up on
it being my second hand be-
fore I found it in the last place
I thought I would, (and just in time
at that!)

It was crawling out of a grand-
father clock and in to the lap
of an old dame on her rocking chair
taking her long afternoon nap.

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About the Poem

I was complaining to a friend (or more) recently about how there just doesn't seem to be enough time in the day, that no matter how much I plan (even when I actually follow the plan), or how productive I am in the day, I always seem to be ending up a few hours short (and this is my break year, so to speak!)
So I thought I'd have a little fun with this otherwise unfavourable situation and follow time on its escapades through poetry.

Process and Form

I wanted to do something with this idea of time hiding or disappearing even in plain sight, so most stanzas have (not-so-) hidden time related words in them. I won't ruin it and tell you where all of them are – you can enjoy a literal word-play game of hide-and-seek, but some are more obvious like second (unit of time/ other or two of) or minute (unit of time/ small) and some are hidden in the sound quality of words like our and hour.

Usually, I'm a big advocate of free verse or non-structured poetry in my own writing, mainly because I feel like it ends up sounding forced when I try to rhyme or fit words into some other structure. But since this is a poem about time, I thought it would be interesting to use a meter. I'm not at the level of iambs or trochees yet, but I thought I'd make a start with a simple eight syllable count per line. Much to my initial dismay, some lines just would not cooperate. But as I continued writing, I realised it was kind of perfect and poetic that these lines were falling short of syllables much like I am falling short of time.
The first line itself, Where does all the time go has six syllables, 2 short of what it needs, indicating that time has already gone somewhere. It is only in the last stanza, when time is found, that every line has 8 syllables, and time finally falls into the lap of the poem structure as it falls into the lap of the old lady.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'd also love to hear your stories of disappearing Time.

(Image: The Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali)

____________________________
Thanks for reading!