Where did that day go,
fallen into some slump of timeless ploy,
flown away in an escape to somehow
disturb day to awaken in gloaming light,
then a tearful goodbye and a welcome repose?
Can’t keep up, grindingly slow, fast or benign,
the time too trans-formative to adhere
to its syncopated rhyme, and no sooner
the sun in zenith, the setting sun invites the night
to play in somber purples.
I watch the colors unfold,
the landscapes in hues too loose to call,
too broad in textured views,
as the time endures change
and skies forever rearranged in type.
My watch tells the truth,
but nature itself a ruse,
a seemingly elastic elusive scale
of transformation, clouds now then gone,
burgeoning then wrongly bleak.
Tis as if my mind is somehow tweaked
to become accustomed
with these anomalous degrees of perception,
a deception to my eyes and mind
in time’s cleverly orchestrated play.
How can I believe what deceives me so,
a flexible time not shown,
yet forever pliable in my view,
as my thoughts wonder as time determines
how and why it may intrude.
I am confused, for perceptions
are so construed in experience, bent with interference,
and in the end I have no idea why,
just my eyes seeing and time relieving itself,
at my expense.
Perhaps I’ll just accept the denial,
that time is definitive, when I know its not,
but if I learn to slow it some,
then it would be worth the conundrum,
and I’ll sleep better.
Days come and days go,
and somewhere in the middle I experience,
fast or slow, who knows,
and while I disbelieve its cunning shrewd secrecy,
it continues to elude me.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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