Our whole life is made of moments that we replay in our mind.
When you think about the present it is already behind.
All our future's yet to be, and our past no longer is.
And our present, oh, the present.
Well, it never did exist.
You could argue that the present is this month, this day, or so...
But a second, milliseconds, they have passed so long ago...
So what is this so called present, we all say's where we should live?
Why is all our life divided by this great three-way time sieve?
Clicking ticking 'round time goes...
Arm so short but never slows...
Hurry, worry, overworked
Busy, tizzy, never shirked
Most important, it is prime!
Oops, we're running out of...
YOU ARE READING
Identity I
PoetryA sequence of poems I made throughout the years. Just something to read when you're bored (I recommend "TIME" and "LOVE POEM?"). If you're looking for emotional, try "SLOUGH" or "ENDS MEAT."
