Time passes,
never stops.
It passes every single millisecond,
one thousand milliseconds is one second
and we don't even notice
that one second passing by
and even though we ignore its existence
it's already passed,
gone
while we have only blinked our eyes
for three, near four times.
How can it be
that before I even notice
seconds have turned to minutes,
minutes to hours,
hours to days,
days to weeks
and weeks to months
and what feels like only a second,
I realize eventually,
is eight months.
And soon enough,
without my awareness,
months turn to one year.
I feel like I am
a broken analog clock,
with its sprockets stuck,
attached to a wall
caught between four rotting walls
of an old rotting house
in the middle of nowhere.
And I do not know how to fix myself anymore
and while I wait and wait
for someone to come and fix me
time passes and passes.
And if it weren't for day and night
I wouldn't know of time.
I hate you time
for I no longer know
how to keep up with you.
Could you,
please,
stop for once
and fix me before you continue your endless journey?
Oh, okay.
It would take a miracle to fix me;
I suppose you aren't the one.
Oh, goodness. I love this poem so much, Jessica! It captures so well that desperation I've often felt. Nothing upsets me faster these days than the realization time is racing by and I'm broken down on the side of the road.
ReplyDeleteI'm right there with you, a broken analog clock nailed to a rotting wall. (I love the imagery, even though [or perhaps especially because] it's painfully true.)
Oh my, thank you so much! I've wanted to capture this feeling for so long and I'm glad I finally did. Time is what saddens me the most these days. It aches to know that it keeps going on and on while I am barely moving on, losing all this time. But somehow, being able to finally capture this eases a little.
ReplyDeleteI hope we both won't stay broken clocks for too long. I wouldn't even mind the rotting wall if I only were fixed!
"Time is what saddens me the most these days." Oh, Jessica, me too. You have such an eloquent and intriguing mind. This really is an incredible piece of writing. Time is a terrible, beautiful mystery. How lonely it must be to constantly pass people by, stopping for nobody, nothing. Time is a sad concept, no wonder it saddens you. x
ReplyDeleteThank you so much dear. It's strange how there is melancholy, and because of that melancholy, poetry everywhere. Time is terrible and melancholic and yet so beautiful somehow. And it's strange too, don't you think, how capturing it eases, even if it's only a little. x
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