It turns out time is the constraint,
that keeps us in a rhythmic beat
and tells us when to wake and sleep
and if the present will repeat.
It turns out time contains us in
a box of moments laid away
where tomorrows and todays meet
in a melodious dance of strain.
It turns out time continues on,
when I am lost or with mind now
gone, am dancing away night at
a bar I may have stumbled on.
It turns out time is close at hand,
its not withheld nor can withstand
the pebbles thrown from miles above
in time-predicted, lengthening strands.
It truns out life was all a beat
was all a moment's dance of feet;
It turns out time was just a thing
which limits things like brain and ways
of mind.
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