How fleeting is this moment,
the passing beat of time
like a metronome ticking down
the seconds of my mind.
At times it is so soft
like a gently flowing stream,
at times it is relentless,
with the pulse of a machine.
Or is time an illusion,
a device made to control,
to make sense of
the unfathomable,
and bring comfort to
the unknown?
Does time really pass at all,
what happens to time
that flies? And where do
all the moments go
when time has passed us by?
Minutes come and minutes go and
before you can fully grasp,
the future is now
the present, and the present
has become the past.
The future looms ahead
like an open waiting
door, a threshold that only
leads us to the place
we were before.
That everlasting gap between
this moment and the last, the
never ending now that
exists before each moment
has passed.
Do I live only in this instant? Is that
all that is allowed? Or do
fragments of myself live on
in now,
and now,
and now?
How fleeting is this moment, the
strange snippets of our lives.
Is it time creating my thoughts right now?
Or is it my thoughts that create time?
About the Creator
Cathy Marshall
Amateur writer of short stories and poetry. Fan of C.S.Lewis, Stephen King, Tolkien, to name a few. I love a great fantasy, sci fi or horror story. Also have a secret fondness for Vogon poetry.
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Comments (1)
I enjoyed that a lot - thank you!