not exactly poetry. just the mutterings of an
ill-used and illusioned mind
What happens to time already gone? Does it go into the future to be re-used again? Like water down a drain is it cleaned and then reused? Or is it like a tissue paper? Used once, and then gone forever. Is it possible to recycle used time like a water bottle, or like chewing gum, do you need to buy more? Can you take it from the trash? Or does it sift through your fingers like the proverbial sands? Can you hold it in your hand for as long as you want? Does time heal or harm over itself? Can time mend a broken bone or heart? Can it give answers or make peace? Can time mow a lawn or fix a copy machine? Or is it just a useless slob, unemployed and unloved on a bean-bag chair? Can time be a friend? Or is it a nemesis you do battle with? Is it kindhearted and good-natured or a cruel and loveless beast? Does it fester or does it glow? Can time be stopped? Can you pause it in any moment? Can time freeze, and let you live in perfect harmony forever and after?