Page 20 - Contrast1991FallCarpeDiem

Time Tracie Boggess

It is a memory
Even as we pass through it.
Life seems to be riding
On a cloud of strangeness,
The inbetween of a weak reality.
And so the world goes on.
The morning, however close,
Remains a distant reminder
That the day has nearly
Reached its zenith.
It's dark, even in the light.
In the silence of the room,
Time seems to wait until
We look away to move,
And then it's only at a yawns pace.
When we wish it to hurry
Time doesn't, and yet when
We wish to capture it
And lock it away, we can't.

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