Time. It passes, like all things do.
Time. It makes our lives carry on through
All of the things that occur, good and bad.
Time. It chugs along while we remember what we had.
And it always moves on.
Time comes in three forms that all go forward.
The past has already happened and can always be forgotten.
The present is currently happening leading you toward
The future always ahead of us, in the direction we're constantly trotting.
And it always moves on.
We do not choose to move, we are dragged unwillingly.
Tugged along doggedly like a life ring out at sea.
Forcefully flung forward like stones slung from a slingshot.
Our lives progress slowly, until it screeches to a halt.
But time, moves, on.
My life has been tumultuous, of course not so unfortunate as some.
There are those who live in poverty and disease.
My life has been emotional, wanting to injure but one.
There are those less affluent as I, their lives filled with no ease.
Yet time, moves, on.
I could be considered more restrained than others,
Thinking of consequences before I act, not foolishly hurting my brothers.
I can be quite progressive in my thoughts,
Having somewhat ideal dreams, my mental demons fought.
But time, moves, on.
Though much like time, my thoughts contain death,
A mess of gore and pain that oppose my idealistic world.
A dream of complete equality with no discrimination left,
Compared to a hallucinagenic nightmare with only screams to be heard.
And time, moves, on.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Short Things
Short StoryI get bored and depressed, so I write short stories and poems that no one cares about. I put them here, so get ready for some amateur poetry.
