The in-between of time
our common angst
the past on our left
the future on our right
(the endless tug-of-war
  but I can't take either side)
with the self in the centre
  as the silent on-looker

  how could I myself divide
  into distinct parts or fragments
  and lose my own individuality
  and identity?

   the past insists
   on telling its story
   the future cares not
   it is impatient
   it is not content
    to be listed second
     superiority it claims

    but my love
    my reason to be
    we choose to be free
     unbounded by
     the time in-between
      every moment
      we create our own glory

       destiny
        is what we make
        of our life together
        
         love heals and does redeem
         it gags the voice of time
          which we'll deem
          but an overused metaphor

           love puts every hour
           to rest. Our love
           has spoken
           it could never be
           an error.