Page: Profile: Poetry
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VxPoem ID: 38428
Posted: June 2nd. 2010 2:24:58 PM
Speculation on Time
Age Group: Adult
Time? Is it a cage or a gate?
How can something so intangible be fathomed?
Each passing moment
each fragile breath that passes my lips
stirs a wonder within me.
Like the musings of an ancient Scholar.
What is time? Is it linear ? Is it circular?
Does it exist in a way that we can even understand?
Are we immersed within it?
Does it surround us like air?
Is it an awareness of our surroundings?
Can it hold us or free us from these conscious husks?
Does time exist outside our experiences?
Can we measure it with suns and moons?
Time could be a succession of emotions and
of different sensations and actions.
Of yearnings and needs. It is measured and given.
A surprise package offered to each of us
upon birth. A fine full gift…but mysterious.
Time is ambivalent and hard to understand.
It comes without instructions, and NO
guarantees. We find No list of ingredients,
or statement of how much is inside.
Being. Growing into time.
What of this allotment then?
Will we hoard it?
Some of us climb into the gift box
and remain there with our time.
Counting minutes. Eating hours.
Keeping it smugly, all for ourselves.
Peering out protectively as others seem to
chase theirs around in circles.
We stay safe…and secure within
our own time. No excursions or experiments.
Sluggish and dull we nurse our time.
Security. Loneliness. Full of Time.
Can it give us comfort and growth?
Will we share it?
Some of us measure it into pieces.
We cut it carefully, with a sharp blade of hope,
placing it on pretty dishes.
Never venturing far from the box…
but making it comfortable and inviting.
Sharing some with others…
Ripping our time to shreds in the process.
Feeling satisfied and feline, in a pride of lions.
Toeing the line of time like a tightrope.
Organized. Communal. Short sighted.
Can it enrich us?
Will we obey it?
Some of us submit to our time…
Time owns us and drives us like beasts.
We bow to it’s will. Follow it to all quarters of the map,
keep pace…with it’s terrible call.
WE are captured and controlled by our time.
We go where it dictates…do what it wants.
Make ourselves available to its obsessive demands.
It pays us well for the effort, and we
are addicted to the bones of our reward.
Haggard. Hurried and blinded.
Can we ever find fulfillment from time?
Will we accept it?
Some of us may bide our time. We may
Savor it’s presence, and allow it to run away with us.
Become engrossed with its flow.
We may find it reinvents us with each new
experience. We will welcome its passing
as nothing more than normal.
Ignore its paradoxes. We will simply exist beside it.
In accordance. A camp near the river…
We will bear with it. Harmonize within its reality.
Peaceful. Perpetual stalemate.
Questions. Infinite and unformed as time.
Author's Notes: All intellectual Property Rights apply
Author Ramona Gibson Hughes/ morgan3
Author's Location: Burns Harbor, Indiana
More Poems: Morgan3 has posted 7 additional poems- View them?
Author's Profile: To learn more about Morgan3 - Click HERE
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