All the Time in the World
May 7 2023
They say regular as clockwork.
The earth
spinning on its axis
as infallibly as ever,
circling the sun
as the calendar would have it.
The well-choreographed dance
of planets and stars,
the great array of galaxies
wheeling through the cosmos
on their predetermined paths.
But the universe
is not nearly as ordered as it seems.
Not when I notice
how much faster time goes
the older I get;
how the days accelerate
and months compress.
Where's the regularity there?
What was once abundant
becoming scarcer,
what I used to squander
now cherish
and wish for even more.
How time, like any depleting resource
appreciates in value
the older I get.
While I myself slow.
My sand, emptying out,
the coiled metal
of my tightly wound spring
incrementally relaxing
until there's little tension left.
When the clock will have stopped
my time have been spent;
hands fixed
at the moment of death.
Yes, I know, no one's turning back the clock.
But would constancy
be asking too much?
How ironic
to see time going faster
when there's less and less.
They told me this, when I was young.
But with the arrogance of youth
I thought nothing of it,
lived
as if I had all the time in the world
and nothing to fear.
Didn't want to write this, because I’ve written it before. A tired topic. But I somehow started in, and had to finish what I began. No wasted words . . .lol!
And there is always the thought that this one will finally nail it, consign all the earlier efforts to the trash.
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