Poetry Collection.

"Time."

————————

Time.
It's a funny thing, really.

One heartbeat you are crying to the sound of a mind
shattering into a million pieces
while the salty air of the sea rolls softly upon your cheek . . .

and the next,
you are walking through a field of bountiful flowers,
a bittersweet smile playing upon your lips as you gaze off into the sunset,
dreaming about tomorrow.

But tomorrow . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . is not really there.

Neither is yesterday,
nor today.

Time.
It's a funny thing, isn't it?

The tick, tock of an illusion—
a veil—
only showing what you wish to see.

What is it that you wish to see?

From child to elder,
and apprentice to master,
and each day unto the next.

The sun rides by on her chariot whispering,
"Tick, tock,
"Tick, tock,
"Tick, tock . . ."

When will it stop?

Will it ever stop?

If time does not exist,
how could it start?

If time does not exist,

was there ever anything there?

'Tis but a memory, my friend.
A faded mist within the mind.
Do not weep for those lost to time,
for are they, truly?

————————

(November 14, 2020.)

This one is kind of, for lack of a better term, "mehh" . . .
But I'm including it anyway because this is an archive of MY own!!!