Impulse: a poem by Lynn Werre

The minutes are but 
A drop in the bucket of Times indifference
To my desire for it to speed up, slow down
Or altogether stop.

Time is a compulsion 
That must keep moving forward.
Won't stop, can't stop
Or change its steadfast pace.

Choice is not an option,
Except for mine-
To lay down the impulse
To tell Time
      To go 
                to 
                    hell.