The thin transparencies of yesterday
are lost in time’s relentless sea,
superimposed on the images
we believe we see

We walk the abstract path of time
We are thrown on a one way road
We stare through bricked up windows
Add rubble to the load

Time is certain and definite
Time does not exist
Time is a collection of the infinite
Time dies with us and isn’t missed

The images die with us
mean that a part of time has died
The washed up shells of bygone days
are swept away by the ceaseless tide

Separate and infinite
like grains of sand on a lonely beach
time loses its distinctions
which are lost or held out of reach

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