A Poem Of Time

Time is a word that was made up
to mean something that we can’t give up.
Fabricating its existence to mean something distant
but at the same time unfolding and holding onto a rim of a cup –
almost ready to give up.

Extenuating its grip on reality,
of mortality for people that need normality.
Weaving through this galaxy that has no significance
in this black hole of gravity.

Skipping through seconds like photons from a burning soul;
giving life to all who are told.

To question time
is a story that leads to unfolding the secrets
to this universe of bold.

Discovering nothing of our future and past.

Belonging to a fate of the continual state,
an infinite circle that will never last.

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