We say “the end of time”
As if we have some control
Beyond a clock counting off
In the corner, rarely observed
And lagging behind.
There is only this moment
And the memories we can recount
That are a mix of truth and rationalization.
Don’t plan for the future
As it is merely a construct:
A way to place meaning
On a present
That disappoints.
Lower your guard
And admit there is no time,
Only markers of occurrences
That quickly slide by.
© 2021 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.
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