Time if anything,
Is an Ideal fluid.
As a man cannot compress it
But
Only compromise by it
Watch it slip
Like water through a
Sieve.
And all that is left,
Is memory
The present is what was
The past was what will be
And
The future will be what is
Irrotational
But now that I think,
About time’s flow,
She
Is not Ideal,
But Real
Her touch is viscous
And leaves a stain,
A stain that is ever
Present
The present is what was
The past was what will be
And
The future will be what is
Inevitable
But how does it matter,
About Her flow,
She hears you but does not
Listen
It is us who change our minds.
Watch her crash
As waves on a beach,
For rhythm or rhyme
Matter not for Time.
Only
Turbulence
The present is what was
The past was what will be
And
The future will be what
It is.