“Here is a poem I wrote.”
-Me, 2 minutes before posting this
Silent and Still,
Time
Is the never-ending being who watches us all.
Marked up by a series of cyclic changes, of birth and death, He remains steady and unceasing.
The violent bursts of tragedy and success can
Color our perception of Him.
“It’s a sad time for America”
“The time is right for you!”
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Consoling each other about the past; hoping for the future
We Call him names:
Loooonnnnngggggg.
Short.
We sometimes paint the picture of a monster.
Large and luminous, stealing from the people; maliciously reveling in their sadness.
But the truth is,
It’s not His fault. It’s bigger than Him.
He is bound, just like us.
Shackled.
Poor Him. Poor Us.
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I was born, young and helpless.
Now I am a woman.
Soon, I will be old and I will die.
“What does it all mean?”
I want to ask, but He cannot answer me, for
He does not know.
He is just
Time,
Silent and Still.
-ArchieTheMirchie
Coloring The Void 