I know I have only 65 seconds to write about this word: seconds. So it’s a pretty stressful thing. Time, what they say is time is money. so seconds are also time.
I have 60 seconds to write about seconds? I find that rather… odd, I suppose. I know there is a better word for it, but the only one I can think of is ‘Odd.’
I hate how there are only sixty seconds in one minute. Sixty seconds to make things worthwhile in one minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Twenty four hours in a day. You have to make them all count, ’cause single second can change an entire day. Do what you can, the best you can do it.
Only a small amount of time remained before the world was going to end. I know it sounds ridiculous, but i was the only person who knew this. i was the one who had foreseen this event coming since i was five, when i had first come in contact with the Great Elder. He told me this exact date and made me vow never to reveal it to anyone.
It is such a short amount of time. It ticks. It tocks. And then it’s over. A whole life. Just like that. Then you are a memory in an obituary in a newspaper lining a parrot’s cage.
Even though I’m an awful on the spot thinker, and I’d really go for some cake and seconds of dinner tonight, I’ll take some time out of my day to write about Seconds.
They define our minutes, and our minutes make up our life, but we all too often take them for granted.
…It was mere seconds before the bright flash lit up the ground in front of him; before darkness returned his eyes registered only saw small foot prints and blood.
Getting seconds a dinner is a luxury. You get to focus on whatever part of the meal you liked best. Everyone takes a little of everything first time, but you are more selective when you go back for seconds.
reaction, intimate seclusion suggests, well, you can just guess. it didn’t take experts to track the second-hand around that clock’s face, and just like it, you too travel in circles.
there are sixty of them in a minute. anything can happen in a minute. fantastic things can be created, the world could end. it takes a second to tell somebody you love them, and one to lose that person.
it takes only seconds to expell words that could hurt another. It takes only seconds for that person to register what was said and to react. It isn’t the best few seconds.
in 60 short seconds i have to write about this word, the seconds tick by and nothing comes to mind. last night i had seconds of supper, there i said something
Damn. I have 60 seconds to write about seconds. I think, seconds as in the measurement of time? Or seconds as in a second helping of food? ARGH! I’m awful at thinking on the spot.
The smallest measure of time. Tick, tick, tick. It was beginning to annoy him. He’d asked for another slice of cake– “Seconds, please!”– and it wasn’t here yet.
60 seconds is a minute, 60 minutes in an hour…
She yawned expansively, tapping the pencil on her desk. Tap, tap, tap. Tick, tick, tick.
The door opened. “I brought you some cake,” he said.
She took the pencil out of her mouth and smiled. “Thanks.”
“Why were you chewing on that pencil?”
Her eyes shifted. “I was thinking about pocky… But cake is good.” She got up and went to the kitchen to find a fork.
Seconds, they say they only barely matter, but they do now.
The jump from the airship to the platform seems great, if I miss I land in Times Square, if I make it I land among the clouds… at this moment … ahhhhhhh!
60 seconds, I waited looking through the glass. It was intensifying, to see you sitting there your heart about to flatline, and in 40 seconds . . . you were gone.
seconds make minutes, which make hours, which make days, then months, then years and so on. i have lived for 21 years. countless seconds. all of which amounted to nothing. i know, boo hoo right?
In seconds, it had exploded forth. The dark wings of the Universe spread out gloriously, molten mass being hurled across it’s silken surface. Galaxies churned, stars bursted into view, gases spinning intricate patterns, and somewhere, amidst the chaos that reigned, it was decided that life would crawl out from it’s depths.
Seconds had passed since he broke the news. I didn’t know what to say. He wanted to marry me? But I had such a lousy record of relationships. Who would want someone as broken as me? And what about my job? I’d have to move to be with him, and I didn’t know if I wanted that!
I only had seconds to think. The clock was ticking with an evil glare above me. My opportunities were slipping away, but I must finish soon. I was afraid of the outcome due to my failure.
I didn’t think I was being a ‘little piggy’, but I was still hungry so I asked for more. I thought you might take it as a compliment that I asked at all.
My time is counting down.
This poem is written frantically, manically, so that I might somehow make a difference in this world that I call my own. My home. A place laced with deceit and truths around every corner and I must write something to make it better.
Ding.
Too bad.
Time’s up.
When driving, it’s the difference between life and death. When eating it’s the difference between fit and fat. It’s “seconds”! Groan. Oh, man, I don’t know why I decided to stay up so late last night. I can’t write today!
seconds left on the clock and nathan didnt know what to do. didnt know where he was. who he was. not anymore. the ball felt foreign in his sweaty hands, his body rigid and motionless, save for the occasional twitch of his nervous fingers, asking him, “what now?”
They always talked about time, categorizing it, labeling it, failing to bottle it. But they could never explain why the seconds always went by like years in the moments where it mattered most.
He knew, as the seconds ticked by, his life was ebbing away. Just like everyone everywhere. The reality that started at birth. Slowly dying; a painful death, a peaceful one, he’d felt it all. He was healthy, yes, but he knew it couldn’t last forever.
Sie laufen davon, die Sekunden, tacktacktack, das ist so naheliegend, kein bisschen Phatansie, Phantasie meinte ich, aber Phatansie ist auch nicht schlecht, das klingt wie eine nordafrikanische Blumensorte.
not enough of them in the day. Ever. they rush by too quickly, slow down puh-leeese, or type quicker lol!!
I know I have only 65 seconds to write about this word: seconds. So it’s a pretty stressful thing. Time, what they say is time is money. so seconds are also time.
I have 60 seconds to write about seconds? I find that rather… odd, I suppose. I know there is a better word for it, but the only one I can think of is ‘Odd.’
I hate how there are only sixty seconds in one minute. Sixty seconds to make things worthwhile in one minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Twenty four hours in a day. You have to make them all count, ’cause single second can change an entire day. Do what you can, the best you can do it.
Only a small amount of time remained before the world was going to end. I know it sounds ridiculous, but i was the only person who knew this. i was the one who had foreseen this event coming since i was five, when i had first come in contact with the Great Elder. He told me this exact date and made me vow never to reveal it to anyone.
It is such a short amount of time. It ticks. It tocks. And then it’s over. A whole life. Just like that. Then you are a memory in an obituary in a newspaper lining a parrot’s cage.
As short a time
is which one could rhyme.
You think
You write,
It WILL turn out fine
Even though I’m an awful on the spot thinker, and I’d really go for some cake and seconds of dinner tonight, I’ll take some time out of my day to write about Seconds.
They define our minutes, and our minutes make up our life, but we all too often take them for granted.
…It was mere seconds before the bright flash lit up the ground in front of him; before darkness returned his eyes registered only saw small foot prints and blood.
60
I don’t understand why I’m writing about the number of seconds I have left
Tooooooo many seconds in a minute
too few minutes in a day
Multiplied by 60, What is the amount of time I have to complete this assignment?
Also, something I always go back for at the buffet.
Getting seconds a dinner is a luxury. You get to focus on whatever part of the meal you liked best. Everyone takes a little of everything first time, but you are more selective when you go back for seconds.
reaction, intimate seclusion suggests, well, you can just guess. it didn’t take experts to track the second-hand around that clock’s face, and just like it, you too travel in circles.
there are sixty of them in a minute. anything can happen in a minute. fantastic things can be created, the world could end. it takes a second to tell somebody you love them, and one to lose that person.
it takes only seconds to expell words that could hurt another. It takes only seconds for that person to register what was said and to react. It isn’t the best few seconds.
You’re entire lifetime is lived in seconds. Each and every passing moment is just another second on the clock.
in 60 short seconds i have to write about this word, the seconds tick by and nothing comes to mind. last night i had seconds of supper, there i said something
seconds are one of the most important pieces of time , they can mean so much and are gone so quickly ….
Damn. I have 60 seconds to write about seconds. I think, seconds as in the measurement of time? Or seconds as in a second helping of food? ARGH! I’m awful at thinking on the spot.
The smallest measure of time. Tick, tick, tick. It was beginning to annoy him. He’d asked for another slice of cake– “Seconds, please!”– and it wasn’t here yet.
60 seconds is a minute, 60 minutes in an hour…
She yawned expansively, tapping the pencil on her desk. Tap, tap, tap. Tick, tick, tick.
The door opened. “I brought you some cake,” he said.
She took the pencil out of her mouth and smiled. “Thanks.”
“Why were you chewing on that pencil?”
Her eyes shifted. “I was thinking about pocky… But cake is good.” She got up and went to the kitchen to find a fork.
Tick of the clock
It all changed in a second
How cliche
Can I have seconds?
In a matter of seconds
tick tick. the clock is going too slow. you wait in anticipation. Finally you hear it. Brrriiiing!
School’s out.
Seconds, they say they only barely matter, but they do now.
The jump from the airship to the platform seems great, if I miss I land in Times Square, if I make it I land among the clouds… at this moment … ahhhhhhh!
[crunch]
I only have seconds to conceive an idea and write it down. Sparks fly from my fingers as ideas become sentences.
60 seconds, I waited looking through the glass. It was intensifying, to see you sitting there your heart about to flatline, and in 40 seconds . . . you were gone.
I only have 60 seconds to write this. Oh my god, all I can think about are seconds. But that’s what I’m supposed to be thinking about, right?
seconds make minutes, which make hours, which make days, then months, then years and so on. i have lived for 21 years. countless seconds. all of which amounted to nothing. i know, boo hoo right?
In seconds, it had exploded forth. The dark wings of the Universe spread out gloriously, molten mass being hurled across it’s silken surface. Galaxies churned, stars bursted into view, gases spinning intricate patterns, and somewhere, amidst the chaos that reigned, it was decided that life would crawl out from it’s depths.
seconds is time , time is money and money is wasted on buying some time, i need time but i hate what money does ..is just horrible
Seconds had passed since he broke the news. I didn’t know what to say. He wanted to marry me? But I had such a lousy record of relationships. Who would want someone as broken as me? And what about my job? I’d have to move to be with him, and I didn’t know if I wanted that!
I only had seconds to think. The clock was ticking with an evil glare above me. My opportunities were slipping away, but I must finish soon. I was afraid of the outcome due to my failure.
I didn’t think I was being a ‘little piggy’, but I was still hungry so I asked for more. I thought you might take it as a compliment that I asked at all.
My time is counting down.
This poem is written frantically, manically, so that I might somehow make a difference in this world that I call my own. My home. A place laced with deceit and truths around every corner and I must write something to make it better.
Ding.
Too bad.
Time’s up.
When driving, it’s the difference between life and death. When eating it’s the difference between fit and fat. It’s “seconds”! Groan. Oh, man, I don’t know why I decided to stay up so late last night. I can’t write today!
seconds left on the clock and nathan didnt know what to do. didnt know where he was. who he was. not anymore. the ball felt foreign in his sweaty hands, his body rigid and motionless, save for the occasional twitch of his nervous fingers, asking him, “what now?”
They always talked about time, categorizing it, labeling it, failing to bottle it. But they could never explain why the seconds always went by like years in the moments where it mattered most.
He knew, as the seconds ticked by, his life was ebbing away. Just like everyone everywhere. The reality that started at birth. Slowly dying; a painful death, a peaceful one, he’d felt it all. He was healthy, yes, but he knew it couldn’t last forever.
I’m mere seconds away from a decision that could completely alter my life. Yes or no? Opposite outcomes. Disaster? Euphoria? Both with consequences.
I wish I could have seconds of these seconds, and relive every moment with the knowledge I have now.
Sie laufen davon, die Sekunden, tacktacktack, das ist so naheliegend, kein bisschen Phatansie, Phantasie meinte ich, aber Phatansie ist auch nicht schlecht, das klingt wie eine nordafrikanische Blumensorte.