Monday, 3 November 2008
a poem reasoning what is time which stopped making sense when i made it rhyme.
Time is a sausage and thyme is a herb.
Time is a doing word but not a verb.
The present divides the future and past
What could happen next and what happened last.
Black holes, mountains tops or the equator
Force us to make time early or later.
Linear, cyclical, dilation, space,
Pastimes and good times or one moment’s grace.
The time of the season or of our lives
Nothing which makes up these things will survive
Running and passing and ticking on clocks
Metering out evenings with each of its tocks.
We live in a bubble where time is squeak.
But you will forget that this time next week.