What is time
But a series of passing moments
Thoughts of that which might be.
Is it a longing unravelled
By a scattered body of time
Like shells on an ebbing tide
That can be rolled back
As the moon pulls them
To the shores of one’s hope.
What is time
But a series of floating images.
Like pictures on a gallery wall
That hang playfully with laughter
And a string of never ending exchanges
With quiet moments of understanding
The foreplay of a two souls,
Drawn by another’s presence.
What is time
But the thrill of anticipation
Where patience seems out of reach
And the wait plays like butterflies
Exhausting the beauty of our imagination
It is what tells us inside
That all is worth the wait
Of inexhaustible time.
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