I think I worry about time too much.
Living alongside the rhythmic and repetitious strides
Of the backdrop of humanity
Seems to fill my head with it.
The nonstop tick-tock is locked into my footsteps
Into the beats per minute of my heart
Blinking numbers or the hypnotic swirl
Of hands that spin too fast in the corner of my eye
But not at all when staring them in the face.
Maybe I worry about time too much because
I’m aware of being trapped in it
But I can’t see it to get out.
Time is a fraudulent simulation of numbers and words
Existing, but unseen and unheard
This awareness is what’s worrisome.
The awareness of time being an untouchable
Out of reach
That haunts our every moment
And controls our every step
We must hold onto time though there is nothing to grasp
When it’s just an entity that consumes us.
There’s an awareness in the knowing of time
That the past will always follow you
And the future is impossibly infinite but inevitably finite
(Sadly we can never know just how finite ours is)
It’s like the nagging tick of a clock to remind you
Of the time you’ve spent
And the time you have left
And how busy you are worrying that time is running out.
The awareness of the existence of time brings with it
The ominous consciousness
It would almost seem as though
Our counting is just a sleepless mind waiting for time to catch up
(No matter how fast we run it will),
Waiting for time to swallow us whole.
But, oh, how excruciatingly slow and painful
Waiting can be.
Why not forget about it?
Experience every second you are blessed with.
Lose track, let time fly…
Are you spending your life living?
Or simply waiting to die?