Time is a a precious construct that we
too often treat as an indulgence,
demanding its respect but in return
showing none
The days pass by in exceeding blurriness,
our existence cursory flashes of
somethingness, or perhaps nothingness
ever progressing at blinding speeds -
like anatomical automobiles varying in
cast and color, make and model all
zooming by (one another) heedless,
oblivious on a temporal superhighway
Sun rises and sets, moon waxes and
wanes, seasons come and go, one
moment indistinct from the other -
nature's indifference is compelling
Even more compelling are our own
idiosyncrasies, caught up in our chronic
customs and generic routines, our lives
denigrated to petty commodities,
aggregates, algorithms, numerical
constructs with little or, of no apparent
value, while time slips away along with
our lifeblood,
our innate resistence a remarkable
futility as we attempt to reason away
at an inevitable fate with our (self)
preservation wagered,
where each passing breath draws us
ever closer towards an indubitable demise
I suppose therein lies the irony,
the tragedy -
at an existential level we'll always be
competing for, and against
time
🚶♂️
©dead_poet
D