unrecoverable hours collections of minutes suspended in memory submerged like frogs in formaldehyde jars lifeless lifelike forms suitable only for dissection nothing more no way to reanimate those carefully preserved moments those specimens of life that are void of what defines life but are all too often examined and re-examined as if what was can become what will be
time bandits with their swift sleight of hand wander across life’s land stealing precious moments from each day without one word for us to say it is so stealth how they take away our wealth routine tasks that seem to last much longer than expected our life oh so unprotected but by the time we awaken we see what they have taken our youth is gone before the next dawn
i’ve been considering the empty space between dreams and routine existence its four dimensions of spacetime wondering whether or not death is a form of gravity which pulls us faster as our position on the continuum of time changes and when death has finally attracted us to its location are our souls part of that boundless continuum inseparable from manifest symmetry or perhaps we’re just time dilations
i was telling aunt bea about a science program i saw on tv they were discussing time whether or not it existed or was merely something man created aunt bea smiled and said honey time exists time is life’s knife used to slice our fantasies and dreams into bite-size chunks of reality
a life a mere drop in the bucket of time but to me she was life my life swallowed whole by the industry she bled for now she floats barren in the universe a token of corporate greed “may we pray for you”
a life a mere moment in time he joined for life the gang to live now she was the price of membership a one-way ticket but could he? he has to or he dies his mama dies Why? “may we pray for you”
River Urke and I have entered into a duel poetry challenge and this is the resulting poem. Duel Poetry: a prearranged poetry writing challenge between two people to evolve a new poem where each writer must respond to the other writer’s lines (4 -5 ) until both parties agree that the poem is complete
eyes glazed no tears can break free of the pain within coursing its way from the heart into every pore and fiber that time has given and now takes away with such agility that one would suppose that life had just begun not reached its end winding down like a broken toy cast aside long ago on society’s side streets of existence forced to wait in line for eternal peace
soon the only voice i have will be what’s left upon these pages and i wonder like every poet who will read or care that my love and life are here not in the grave or with the ashes spread ceremoniously across the sea look for me not there but here for this is all that will be left of me
Read Between the Minds 