A poem of time
Time is word that was made up
to mean something that we can’t give up.
Fabricating it’s 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 it’s grip on the reality
for people that need normality.
weaving through this galaxy
that has no significance
in this black hole of
Skipping through seconds
like photons from a burning soul
giving life as I’m told.
To question time is a story that leads to unfold
the secrets to this universe of bold.
Discovering nothing of our future
Belonging to a fate
of continual state,
A circle that will never last.