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A Matter of Time – a poem
By
The Blue Raven

What is Time?

Does it run forward in a straight line?

Or does it move in a circle or even a loop?

Is it just an illusion made of endless moments?

For that is what Doctor Einstein postulated.

Yesterday is gone.

Hopes were shattered.

Promises were broken.

Mistakes were made.

No going back and changing things,

for Time does not allow it.

Let it go and let it be.

Concentrate on today.

But what is today?

Only a fleeting moment,

built upon the ashes of yesterday.

Never mind, there is always tomorrow,

so say the well-meaning friends.

Thus we plan for another day,

for tomorrow.

A day we cannot see ahead.

A day we cannot have today.

And a day that will soon dissolve into yesterday.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow are all but echoes.

Echoes of so many yesterdays.

Echoes of moments lost,

of dreams that fell apart.

Time steals our youth,

turns our hair into white cotton wool,

and faces into wrinkled old prunes.

Helpless we watch as death approaches,

but there is nothing we can do.

For Time is the Master and we its Slaves.

Time…

The End