Member Poem

DISTORTING TIME

Will tomorrow be history, repeated again
Or the past masquerading as the present
Now is ever transient, waving as it passes
And yet never seen, even wearing glasses
With no concept of being dire or pleasant
Time passes silently, just tickling the brain

Time is so illusory - and has that ironic grin
Clocks are an artifice, and merely relative
Nuclear or atomic, always seeking precision
Are minutes and seconds just an imposition
As any absolute measurement is speculative
But no philosophy ever lets anyone peer in

It’s merely a construct to explain seasons
Or tides, sunsets, finite life spans and age
Worrying about what tomorrow may bring
Or even the whole modern calendar thing
No real answers, even from any wise mage
With nearly all scientists bereft of reasons