time is the forever-crutch
as long as
we, as victims,
have use for it.
time seems to be
the eternal eavesdrop,
all ears, everywhere,
more constant than sunlight.
certainly having no moral position.
possibly passively reading all human stories
concurrently.
scripts crossing with others?
not a problem, just moving on.
can’t really call time an audience
as much as I can call the sky my friend
or earth my cohort or chum.
no, time is an intimate passivity,
not an apathy or aloof
but genuinely a foolproof constant.
everything I consign to time
is only a reflection cast back on to me.
it is a dependency, bordering on addiction.
not a liquid, gas or solid
but a constant.
as a reflection,
it stands too close,
offers too much to process.
I could be head-over-heels
and it doesn’t present with a yawn.
as subjective as I could be,
time is still wildly indifferent
to my particulars.
I often feel rendered by time
but not accounted for.
I have total freedom to be at its affect.
for as friendly as time can seem,
it is still not human in any way.
yes, there seems to be accompaniment
but I am the sole keeper.
it is the forever-crutch
in the ever-advancment of
‘as long as’
well, there is . . .
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