time is

…stretchy. Time is sticky. It moves too slow. Too fast. Always the wrong way from what we want. But we are the problem. We are the ones too fast, too slow. Blaming time. Blaming the cosmos when we can grasp time in our clutches if we would only change our perspective.


What time is it?

I wonder if it ever makes a difference

Those twenty-four arbitrary wedges

Worldwide we are simultaneous

One stone skipping the waves

But someone added borders

Because they say time is light

Time is the sun


But the dark is not timeless

In more ways than one

So I start to wonder

If nothing were perceived

If nothing ever changed

Would there still be time?

I can’t help but think so


Time is a constant

It is invisible weather

Just as rain can fall unseen

It subsists without observers

It is the ultimate movement

But we try to pin it down

Does time care what it is?