deepundergroundpoetry.com
On Time
time slips by
fast and slow
depends if you're looking
or not
tracking time
to pin it down
when it tries to escape
bells
schools, churches, clocks
reminding us
where we are
in its inevitable stream
holding time
clenching the minutes
coordinating with society
the hands start to bleed
drip, drop
tick, tock
death grip
on that
which kills you
the unit a life is measured by
a thing so vast
but we only
see with certainty
the crumb of the present
the depth of the past
and the fog of the future
perpetually obscured
orbits around the sun
the daily rotations
the stars moving
celestial bodies
dancing through the void
constrained to a calendar
chained to a clock
records of past time
rings of the trees
zircons in the crust
atomic decay
rock layers
stacked pages
of earth's secrets
a diary of her life
ancient tomes in archives
from the musings of monarchs
to merchant complaints
on
papyrus, clay tablet
jar of scrolls in a cave
notched wood
vessels for thoughts of the dead
messages from the past
silent words
never thought to be spoken again
a mind is compelled
to know when you are
as much as where
but my own is never inclined
to keep pace
so i curse the phrase
'on time'
fast and slow
depends if you're looking
or not
tracking time
to pin it down
when it tries to escape
bells
schools, churches, clocks
reminding us
where we are
in its inevitable stream
holding time
clenching the minutes
coordinating with society
the hands start to bleed
drip, drop
tick, tock
death grip
on that
which kills you
the unit a life is measured by
a thing so vast
but we only
see with certainty
the crumb of the present
the depth of the past
and the fog of the future
perpetually obscured
orbits around the sun
the daily rotations
the stars moving
celestial bodies
dancing through the void
constrained to a calendar
chained to a clock
records of past time
rings of the trees
zircons in the crust
atomic decay
rock layers
stacked pages
of earth's secrets
a diary of her life
ancient tomes in archives
from the musings of monarchs
to merchant complaints
on
papyrus, clay tablet
jar of scrolls in a cave
notched wood
vessels for thoughts of the dead
messages from the past
silent words
never thought to be spoken again
a mind is compelled
to know when you are
as much as where
but my own is never inclined
to keep pace
so i curse the phrase
'on time'
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