Time moves forward, yet remains the same,
A paradox of time, a cosmic game,
We chase it, we waste it, we can't escape,
Time marches on, at its own pace,
The paradox of time, an absurd frame.
About the Creator
R.Freya
Poetry is my soul's language, and I wield words like a paintbrush. From heartbreak to hope, I capture emotions and spin them into verse.
Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi7 days ago in Fiction
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