Time is indeed changeable...
but here, not a reference to
Einstein's Sense equated
for when time ages, it quickens –
looses elements, as an older
body looses functions of
motion, leaps the gaps
between thoughts, unaware
of spaces once consciously
traveled (forgotten the reasons
for places and their dynamic purposes) –
mountains become
dust...
seas become beds
of salt – waves and tides
no longer aware of self's current-memories...
kings and queens
devolve from royalty to fond
myths
Time has no beginning
nor end, outside life's infinite album
creation fills with photos of past, living moments,
and dreams yet to be begotten –
Time began with God
and rests not until His man
I'm someone else every day
Yesterday was another me
Today another I am still another
being the same...
weather's changeable
sky a multitude of grays
could be rain or snow
I paint picture that schemes my changeable collages that clogs my drainage mind and my visions of my exploration thats a standstill it's a working in progress never no movements or exceeding always messy and im always in the middle of it and always accused of it never order organizations left a mess like a changeable collages through a change of messy mess thats in disorder never arranged in order that mg symptoms that side affects me always and sticks with me and glue me to the poster board while my collage activates my mess thats a messy changeable collages.
Cloudless horizons
Cast shadows of doubt,
The future is brewing;
No escape route out.
Murky, addled minds
That knows no sense;
Opinions left idle,
Lingering on the fence.
Shady recollections
Of secrets well kept,
Meticulously concealed;
Persistently swept.
Cascades of despair
Pour down on poor souls;
Drenched by ambition
Of unreachable goals.
Sweet, sunny sentiments
Are salvaged in vain;
These anchors in chaos
Are tethered to pain.
Stormy grey horizons
Cast shadows of dread;
The future’s unchangeable
So just ignore it instead.
Swirls of ragged trees
In wisp white softness of skies—
Curls of dark fingertips
Like gold glints of eyes.
Swirls in broiling smoke
And heat’s wild surmise.
Gnarls in sticks of grass
And brown leaves as winter dies.
Burls amid dark blue skies—
Swirls of alpha, omega
And all of life’s prize.
Sometimes when I look at life
It really makes me think
Especially when two souls are filled with rife
It’s so sad when one can’t see the link
Between the preordained and the changeable
Sometimes when I consider love
As a simple decision to love
I can’t help myself from finding out
That it is full of predestined forces through out
It is our gentle duty to hold on to the changeable bit
Sometimes when I observe myself
I can clearly see the plenteous lessons
Left for me to master all by myself
From the previous day’s failed lessons
Just for trying to make the preordained otherwise
Sometimes we as humans don’t need to struggle
Just to love and to be loved
If we will decide not to fumble
We will understand that even before life we were loved
By someone who wants us to hold on to our changeable bit
And leave the complex rest to fate.