Time is just a construct,
made up by the man,
to help make sense of a universe where
no one understands.
How it began,
how it'll end,
and all the things in between.
We let time rule our lives,
the ticking and ticking our guide,
the rotation of digital numbers our hand book.
But we invented those too,
just like gravity, evolution, and God.
Everything we see,
every name and word we know,
we created just to make sense of life.
Why? How? When? And why again?
Honestly, we have no fucking clue.
YOU ARE READING
A world unlike your own
PoetryNot poetry, just words. My world is different to yours. Here's a slither of it. Come find me Best rankings: #1 in Poembook #1 in Therapeutic #3 in Thoughts #29 in Poetry
