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Is it fast or slow
Or programed to weather the flow
Moving along the path of order
While accommodating pace of disorder
Where does its head headed
Maybe toward tomorrows unvisited
And does its tail eliminate the past
Or furnish the shadows of the cast
Whose times were cut short
To make room for players of court
Is my time same as your time
Where we enjoy the same clime
Or is there a difference in our rhythm
That determines how we fathom
The clock moves with aim
Deceiving us to play the game
The game of evolutionary sway
That undermines humanity's way
Does Time actually exist
In the way we wield its fist
Is Time absolutely real
In the theatre of Universal trawl
If it is, I cannot feel its passing
Cannot comprehend its amassing
Some go early some go late
Some never even knew of its weight
So, is Time a season in the shadows
Or a reason to plant the willows.
Almost forever the Sun is there
The Planets and their Moons follow suit
Our end could be near or very far
Never can tell of Future's run
Yesterday I was happy and full of life
Today I feel old, tired and lacking love.

Did the Universe begin with a bang
Or was it there all along
Pregnant with dark mass and energy
As well as roaming atmospheres
Harboring inchoate light
There must have been
Spirits positive and negative too
Shaping the ignition of transition's bloom.

No way there was absolutely nothing
Before the Universe began
For nothing comes out of nothingness
The Universe in indistinct form
Was there all along and some explosion
Implosion or metamorphosis
Could have modified the Universe
Into its current existence.

The seed of physical life
May have been planted trillion years ago
Waiting for conducive conditions to grow
There is a gargantuan gap between
What scientists know and what really is
They have sparse knowledge of what
Makes the Universe tick with ample tricks
Our scientists are at a boarding stage
Of a journey that may or may not
Take them to some magical destination
That just might shed light on how
The Universe totally operates and why
But what is the point of BEING
If we know everything there is to know
Mystery is what makes life interestingly
Living for and dying for
Without it, life is a boring ballroom---
An uninspiring game.
Loving people is a complicated
career and a lot of work! At some
point we just want to retire.
Bijan Rabiee Jul 1
I can play
With your temporal stay
Swing to and fro your antenna
Tug at the strings of your viscera
Stretch'em to left, to right
To the middle of infernal night
You can't fully get to know me
Can't control the flow of my steam
I can make you or break you
That depends on your approach
Suppress me and I tie your feet
Ignore me, I trick your heat
Hate me and I tamper with your creed
When it comes to my existence
There is but one way
You can carry the day
Come to terms with your shortcomings
Swallow your sins
And embrace the things
That you dislike the most.
The dog firmly placed his chin upon the old
man's knee, stirring him from sleep in his chair.
The only light in the room coming from the
television screen. The dog's gentle message
being, "Time we go to bed" dear friend.
A ritual event occurring more often now
and most likely tomorrow night again.

As the man slowly stood the dog pranced towards
the door, to go outside and do his required business.
The man also to the bathroom did retire, brushing of
teeth and to attend to his own urgent business.

Six years of twenty-four seven companionship had
bonded them forever, each knowing the other as
only best friends or family can, both fully habituated
to the other's needs and routines.

In the bedroom the dog sat upon his own bed, close by
to the man's bed, patiently waiting as he always did.
The man leaned down and took the dog's face and
head into his hands, forehead to forehead they paused
while silent endearing messages were, like every night,
conveyed and mutually affectionately received. Loving
friendship as real as any can be.

The man climbed aboard his own bed, donning his CPAP
mask like a pilot before takeoff and arranged himself
in his fully-automatic-adjustable bed, then clapped his
hands twice to extinguish the lamp on the bedside table.

"Good night, buddy, we'll have some more fun in the
morning." the man murmured, closing his eyes to sleep.
While his friend also laid down, curled into a ball and
released a contented sigh, as they both did every night.

Another day ended as most now do, as will, all their
remaining shared tomorrows.
Written four years ago, my irreplaceable Boxer dog Tucker
passed away two months ago, I do so miss his companionship.
I have lost too many loved canine friends, I will not be getting
another. Too hard to endure the loss. Too old to start again.
We reach a point where
all our night and daydreams
revolve around the things
we did rather than the things
we want to do, featuring the
person we used to be.

A remembered scrapbook of
Life already lived rather than
anticipated. An exercise in
Self-Absolution perhaps
sometimes dreamed in color.
Her eyes bespoke
à depth untouched,
an allure of sensual
mystery that she kept
locked inside.

We married, but sadly,
I never found the key
to unlock the voided
recesses of her walled
citadel, containing the
inner depths of unselfish
love and beauty that I'd
hoped resided there.
She remained a self-absorbed
isolated Island unto herself.
Looks alone can be very
deceptive. Too often beauty
is only skin deep. She has
been married 4 times and
no man has found the key.
Keys cannot unlock what
is not there.
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