Is there is no such thing as 'Time'?
Is there only
our experience
of the present-moment
changing?
Is what we call 'Time'
the changing of our experience
of clocks as they tick
in the present-moment?

I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission;
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.

I am a ball, I am a cell,
I am the will of higher selves;
I’m a layer of the kernel,
Flying on seat "57L";
I’m a letter that was sent to mail,
Set outbound when rings the bell.

I am a curve, I am twirl,
I am sustained motion still unfurled;
I’m necessity in the system;
Of absorption I am the emblem;
I’m a branch of fractal downward;
Of struggles past I ain't no award.

I am a beast, I am a fork,
I am a breach through inert soil;
I’m a head of the hydra snake;
Consolation in all of mistakes;
I’m the blood of the wounded,
The brain of memories faded.

I am a blink, I am a cause,
I am the storm after the pause;
I’m the pity for the angered;
Whose duties have been tempered.
I'm the eye that's about to drool
And the tooth that's bound to fool.

I am silver when I am gold,
Yes I am pale when I grow bold,
Like an etching on a clean surface
I'll be sanded just to be varnished;
I'm the most certain of prediction,
Foreseeable beyond provision.

I am ludicrous, I am lukewarm,
I am commitment amidst cold wars;
I’m the frontier around the form
And the earth that drowns the worm;
Of victory I am some defeat,
Accomplishment left incomplete.

I am a meter, I am a yard,
I am pain that causes no harm;
I'm the scepter of the peasant,
The suffering in the pleasant;
I'm everything that's ever been said,
All that's forgotten once it's been read.

I am a sin, yes I am sought,
I am a child yet to be mourned;
I’m resistance to the inevitable,
Recurrence of the unstable;
I’m the distance of departures,
The first minutes of final hours.

I am a beat, I am a clock,
I am a rhythm of some sort;
I’m a carrier on a mission,
The byproduct of an invention;
A battery that is being charged
And depleted low and large.

i sit there
waiting
the clock ticks faster
time’s getting away
the heart beats slower
life‘s melting away
my mind and time never in tact
i sit there
waiting
waiting to know
what will happen
waiting to die
waiting to live
or waiting to lie and say i’ve never truly lived
waiting to know what will happen
after im dead and my poems still alive
waiting to know
if im gonna make it
waiting to know
if im gonna slit it

i know nobody wants to know
what im waiting for
but for that one kid, sitting in his room
thinking and waiting, that his life is hell
don’t think about it

write about it, paint about it, sing about it

The clock strikes an hour
As pendulum swings to and fro
Measuring beats in each second
Machinery sensing vibrations
The towering clock stands tall
High and mighty above us all
Announcing time to go
The chiming bells doth ring an echo
Sounding an alarm
Stopping the wanderings
Of a mind that senses the gap
Marking one's existence
In the space-time fabric
The duration that elapsed
Returning to the present
Knowledge of the current
Time that is displayed
By two hands splayed
Occupied in a corner
Defining its place
Carving out its own space
For the lone individual self

© 2004 - Pres  Hello-Poetry.com - All Rights Reserved

The calendar days crossed themselves off,
one by one,
and the hands of the clock
ticked, ticked faster.
I did not know what I wanted,
but  I knew I wouldn't have enough time
to figure it out.

what held
them both
apart

was not a love song
rather a clock

that held
their hopes and dreams
from tick
to tock

they say with lovers time stands still,
i didn't fully understand until one rainy morning in paris. you'd let me wander aimlessly around my favourite bookstore for hours, smiling sweetly at my excitement even though you hadn't read the prose. you escaped into the morning air, i walked out of the doorway to find you and the hands of time silenced. there you were, tucked underneath the dew; the crimson morning sun lighting you up. you were deep in conversation with a lone artist, mesmerized by her work. the watercolours dancing in your eyes. i thought you looked so beautiful, that the notre dame behind you dwarfed in comparison. in that second i knew i would spend forever trying to keep that look in your eyes.