I'm just passing the time

Who knows where time flies to when we're having fun?
at what point in the past is time gathered
and stored away into the huge pockets
in the jacket of this dimension?
or how long are its coat tails
dragging along the time spent
standing in ques or waiting
for the phone to ring?

Is there a grand hall that has on display
all the fifteen minutes of fame?

Or is time filtered of it's activities and recycled
among every living thing in the universe?

When time tells all, who does it speak to?
and where are its great healing powers
when the living start slowly dying
from the moment of conception?
is time not just as ruthless
as any other mass murderer?