Throughout the ages of time, great events have taken place, like the advent of toilet paper. Time is uncontrollable, yet steady. It is stubborn. Sometimes, I wish it would slow down and other times I wish it would speed by. I hardly ever want it to go at the pace it actually does, so I have never felt love for it during the moment. Time often fills me with dread as I see taunting deadlines dancing before my eyes or I think about what I should have done in the past. However, when I think about time as a whole, I realize how much it has taught me. The world has changed so much throughout the ages of time. Time tells the truest and greatest story of all.

Time is an illusion

An incomprehensible boundary

We cannot imagine life without it

Yet it too was created

By someone who exists

Outside of it

Like an author to a book

And we are the characters

Bound by the pages

The end is the end

We cannot go back

Nor can we jump ahead

But the seconds tick slowly by

The same as ever

The same motions

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

The earth spins

It revolves around the sun

The great celestial sphere

Which revolves around something else

Time and motion

Interconnected

Inseparable

One cannot exist without the other

Yet when the boundary is ripped away

There it stands

Bare and naked

Ilusiones no longer

But will we ever know?

No

We were designed for the boundary of time

Limited

To time and motion

Motion and time

Slowly

Steady

Persisting

Even time is stretched when approaching the unsearchable vortex in space

Stars collide and the universe falls to pieces

See the flaws, the vulnerabilities

Just like us

I have spent a decade in 2AM, dry heaving into a trash bin that also contains unnameable dried up substances. 3AM is restless sleep. she always dies at 4AM, in dreams where I learn of her death and attend her funeral. I often wonder if dreams mean something, if at 5AM, when I wake up, we can find meaning in what we so obviously suppress.

I think humans might assign meaning to time, like dreams. An alternate reality awaits anyone who is willing to think that this, is, in fact, not reality. 'This' - time - is a dream, a phantom coming to make you believe. I think about her funeral, how I held her urn in my hands. her name carved right on it, my brain remembering how to spell out her entire name. a song I like says 'nothing good happens after 2' and just like that, 2AM is killing her again.

My dad blows out his birthday candles in one breath.

His smile lines

have started growing, inching

across his face, an invasive species.

What once were constellations

are now a dizzying reminder

that he is old,

older.

Maybe the wrinkles

are the roots of his

soul, spreading out

across the soft pale soil

of his skin,

sinking into my memory

forever.

Time is something I write about a lot. Time is standing still. Time is flying by.

There's never enough time.

Time is a construct of our own mind.

It lives only in perception. Created to help keep track of what a day is and to separate it from the last.

It's a new day.

If only yesterday.

There's always tomorrow.

But that isn't true, is it?

Tomorrow only exists in your mind. You could walk outside in an hour and get hit by a car on the way to the grocery store. And then people may say, "It's not fair, it was too soon. We wish we had more time."

More time. As if it's something that can be acquired and bargained for. I think what people really mean to say is, "I wish I hadn't wasted the time I had."

Time can be a warden of the prison in your mind,

the kind that traps you inside memories,

the memories that trap you inside your pain,

the pain that replays the memories of things you wish you could change; mistakes you've made, people you miss,

and oh, how you reminisce. But what if tomorrow doesn't exist?

Take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

Time just is. And you are here. Now. In this moment.

What will you do with it?

and amazing thing that time can do

heal all wounds and decay the flesh as well

what is responsible for endless marches

and chronic motion that seems to ail us

as we work to waste it distract from its passing

entertaining illusions to make it go down easy

and hair grows longer, gets cut, turns gray

but recordings of history miraculously stay

in tact though their message is polluted by change

and it moves and it moves and it moves us away

and toward some destiny that no one can see

some have grand ideas, yet no one can be

there except the creator, you see it's not linear

just a million wide spots in the road

chained together on a highway but really

we only see that because of memory

if we couldn't think of such things we'd be scrambling

from moment to moment without so much as a second thought

but we don't so we write keep tradition and tell stories

about the history of all that we've noticed

occurs in the world and the function of changes

the documentations of several differing patterns of decay

physical first, spiritual second, then moral societal

all depending on the perspective of the individual

but somehow nothing important gets lost,

or at least that which we lose turns out not to be

and we live on.

Look at the clock

do you hear it ticking

those seconds ticking away

your life with them

your days are number

but the number remains unknown

tick tick tick

what will you do with the time

will you mourn the wasted moments

will look and try to count the minutes

my time is shorter than yours

or it may be longer

who knows

according to statistics

i won't make it to 30

according to statistics

i shouldn't be here

writing this

yet i am

i am living on borrowed time

as are you

eventually you are forced to give that time back

whether that be

tomorrow

or today

or twenty years

what will you do with the time

waste it and watch as it slip

slip

slips through the hourglass

or use it

and live to the fullest

Steve Jobs once said “The most precious resource we all have is time”. I agree with this statement because you can lose a lot of things and get it back (money, clothes, people). But you can never get back time. I think the worst insult is for someone to purposely waste your time because they don’t consider it to be valuable. Time is what calculates what has passed by. To me it can be a positive thing or a negative thing. If I am looking forward to something, I am constantly wishing the time away hoping for the day to get here sooner, and if something is approaching that I am not excited about, I am also hoping the time will come by faster so I can get it over with. However, if I am enjoying a moment, I want the time to move as slow as a turtle so that I can savor every moment that I am experiencing. I often think that time flies at the most inconvenient times. Why does the time of being at work move so slow, but when i’m hanging out with my friends, the time moves so fast, and it’s time to go home before you know it. I think if you don’t stare at the time, it will move quicker because you aren’t focused on it.

Time is not create a victimless crime

You take defense to everything that upsets me

As if you see your reflection in my tears

Knowing your knife sharpened my fears

Truth be told your guilty conscious doesn't speed up time

Either way our hearts are still paying fines

The only thing time does

Is allow the blood to dry

Peace is nothing

If I still cry in the dark

The words they wrote on me

Are not just a faded mark

They wrote them in permanent

Yours dry erase

The only thing times does

Is allow the ink to decay

Time does not create a victimless crime

Countless hours I spent

Trying to justify

The way you treated me in my head

Only seconds it took you to create a lifetime i’d dread

The only thing time does

Is remind me to leave you behind

like a double edged sword

the clock has two hands

one points towards freedom

the other towards the damned.

with each tick you gain knowledge,

maturity and skill

yet behind every new privilege

lurks a new threat.

with every memory made

an old one is lost,

death rusts your joints

and fills the cracks in your back

every common cold begins to reek of decay

mundane life runs the risk

of imprisoning you in a world of white walls

alone in a nursing home

because you can no longer be trusted

to have the independence

that you longed for

in your youth.

every clock

has two hands:

one is a key to unlock your cell

and the other is a door

to a new kind of prison.