Time
Tick -
Another second.
Tock -
Another moment.
Blink -
Days vanish.
How do we live
Thrive
Grow
In the fog of days past?
The moment in which I type,
And the moment in which this is read,
Are different points,
But both now just memories.
Left with a clip of life,
Another X on the calendar.
Everyone mourns the passage of time,
Passing faster the deeper we get.
All we know is,
We all experience the passage,
Dread making time move faster
As we desperately skid to avoid the moment it stops.
The idea of time,
The passage,
The march,
Is a construct -
An idea shared by consciousness
Craving understanding of the universe.
Imagine a book.
The hero starts a journey,
Experiences trials,
Grows,
Learns,
And finished their journey.
But the first CAPITAL
And the final period
Are in our hands simultaneously.
The hero and villain
The best friend and lover
All created and discarded at the same time.
Imagine rising above time.
Seeing the beginning,
The end,
The highs,
The lows.
No orbit around the sun,
No days to enjoy or dread,
Just a story.
All in front of you.
A tapestry of time.
The failed fantasies,
The placebo prayers,
The twisted trials,
Wrong religions,
Redundant rallies,
Insignificant ideas.
Who wrote our book?
If time is a construct,
Then we know
Once the final line is written,
We have no destination after
THE END
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