Time as Phantom

It sometimes jumps ahead,
this thing we invented as time,
panicking our hearts
messing with our minds
forever the court jester.

How little we know him
his memory often hides behind harlequin colors,
a shadowed suit of one’s receding light,
a three-dimensional essence
having succumbed to wisdom’s impatience,
finally conceding to a dragging of the past as attachment.

How sad to not know…

Time’s present insistence
offers gentle ushering,
often guarding us with
options to escape the entrapment,
even as we may not be ready.

In the end,
we may have made a friend,
that part of existence
that knows no barrier,
no end game,
forever ready
to accompany us
into the next evolution,
the next arc,
fulcrum’s destiny,
pivot’s next juncture.

Time waits for no one?

Perhaps we’re wrong.

Might duration’s chronology
be numberless?

Might Time be an innocuous fear?