Centuries stretch into decades
Decades crumble to years
Years dilute to months
Months spoil to weeks
Weeks transform to days
Days pass through hours
Hours scramble to minutes
Mintues fall onto seconds

And it goes and goes
With a logramthic speed
While I stand still
To contort some truth:

Man made measurments meticulously made
May mark mere moments
But
With words witheld within
Wallowing waves wash white, "whys?"
Away.

And...

I speak in riddles as I should
When faced with nothing
But left with the word "could?"

Could of? Of course. Could I? Yes.
I could do anything, definitely
But no I would never
It is a hopless endeavor

And death ushers who it will
And brings their heart to a still
As we all look to how old
To comfort us
From death's hold

For his grip is unrelenting, arbitary, overreaching and perpetual

The vast majority of our only known home is submerged
In a singular element.
Gallons and currents and waves,
Depth and surface, qualities
Which hardly divide it,
The unified whole, as far as can be seen,
Overwhelmingly omnipresent.

The entirety of what is known of our lives exists
In a singular progression.
Years and hours and moments,
Long or brief, measurments
Which do naught to divide it,
The universal present, the only experience possible eternally.

Within this omnipresent permanence existing, our bodies - drops in the ocean and mere flashes in time.
Who is to say that Love - its objects, time or placement notwithstanding - is not
All that we are, united, the one and only
Whole that we can ever be?