On time

Poetry should always be like this, you think
Grabbing pockets of time with obsolete words
Creating moments that exist on the infinite plane of space between two numbers.
Past tense moments. Moments that start to become more like elaborate stories,
A forgotten cigarette, ash burned all the way down to the filter,
The discomfort of stale air and bated breath,
It’s like the lights turned on, and
You realized the floor was sticky,
The second you looked up and the crowd was not what you were expecting,
The monotony of history becomes another nursery rhyme, and in the grand existence of this earth, it only took a minute for whole civilizations to crumble and entire countries to come to ruin, so
What makes you think you are worth my time?
Sometimes movie trailers give away the best parts of the movie
That once you watch it there’s a lingering disparity in the aftermath,
Whispers of hollow expectations
that casts shadows from inside the walls of your shut eyelids.
If time
Is relative and time
expands infinitely
since time began
then who’s to say the space
between two numbers is not the same as the span
Of the universe?
Nothing exists in the abyss
Math is the only
True language of God
There are no absolutes,
Just like how there are no coincidences and
As fate would have it
We are turning into a false winter
All that is left are
Incongruent shapes of geometry
Because depending on the angle they face
Mirrors can sometimes give the illusions
Of perfect reflections

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