A colossal hoax of clocks and calendars.
Souls know nothing
of such mystic metric units
or the depth of discrete time.

Inner workings of existence
fails comprehension. Instead the soul
uses perception. There are two sides
to every story. Like that of the hourglass,
the shapes connect to share identical
moments. Without counting one by one,
the sand is sifted.
The passage of time - so narrow -
is nothing
we can count on the fives of fingers.

There is no order to suggest repetition.
Our soul knows no names.
Parallels of reason reflected
as we look into glass mirrors. When
we fall asleep only to wake up
within a dream. We welcome love, without measure.

And if (our Soul speaks louder than words) we walk
through the passage of time, (like sand),
we will exist completely. Soul in sole
to encompass the depth and the surface
as one.