Poem: Time


I tried to measure out the day. Spread my time as it were equally. But time doesn’t stretch easily. It appears and then disappears in moments. There are seconds ticking by. 

Some of them are meaningful and some of them are small and incidental. You never know the meaning of each second.

You can’t stretch time backwards; you can only move on. Until you sit in bed at night and realize the whole day is gone.

What tomorrow brings is a mystery that enfolds? What if something unexpected occurred? What if the day wasn’t usual at all.

And you can’t stop time either, although sometimes you can get stuck in a moment and it feels like time stood still.

Moments and memories, clippings from the magazine of life and stories spread across the wall. Taped and cut hastily, with little bits of memoriabilia here and there.

A movie ticket here, a picture drawn here, a cut out of an image of your tattoo. There are locks of hair, old poems and essays, photographs, and the first outfit you ever wore after you were born.

That is when the moments came to be and stuttered and started as you rode up on both feet, developed a voice, and learned to read and write. When you wrote the last essay for your Bacholer Degree. 

And every now and then I here time ticking in the night. I wonder if have spent it right?

If I can divine some meaning from life so far. Make the seconds count more and make certain memories freeze. 

But all hope is in the future and I’m looking at poinsettias on the coffee table. I think life life is something like a poinsettia.

It’s lovely to behold and you need to maintain it and grow well; but for those who take piece out your life, who bite in and destroy you. They can’t handle the poison from a plant so beautiful at Christmas. 

They inhale the parts of you that are toxic and we all have these parts. They are a bitter pill to swallow and can rip another person to pieces. 

But better are the people who have always been here and see the poinsettia lose all it’s leaves until it is baron and stick -like. 

Better they see a person in a moment for themselves and accept them anyway. They have seen us beautiful and they have seen us weak.

Then we know in a second, those who loved us first. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved. 

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