After All

Time was durable, once,
Always too much of it,
Never passed quickly enough
For us to let it go. It made
Us search for more things
To do so we could fill it
With a meaning we would
Understand.

So much change, as our
Hands empty of the rare
Seconds we are constantly
In search of, through these
Imperfect moments of haste,
Where the old equations
Fail, and sixty minutes
Become thirty, and a night
An hour.

It wasn’t made to last,
After all, this castle we
Built on our assumed immortality,
But made of sand, and
Made on sand. And now
We are forced to watch it
Crumble.

R 31/01/2025 19:53