Tags
How it is that time
moves in pieces
that each we must
note or touch or
somehow move to mind
How it is that life
is nothing but time
that moves forward
in pieces we dare not
not hold, but rarely even
recall or know or grasp
How it is that forever
is only time on end
that moves in pieces
we skip over like a game
of hopscotch, yet
cause, effect, process,
growing into, evolving
out of, slicing ’twixt,
funneling together,
shape us even so —
How it is these
tiny pieces shovel
forward and on
for us to mark,
embrace, fall from,
to live or not
Poems from in between 
That last stanza. **
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! I am so glad you liked it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on Concierge Librarian.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for that! It means a lot to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Agree with TIZ, the last stanza is stellar. The idea of time in pieces, how you examine it in different facets through the stanzas. This has a math-physics feel to it, abstract but anchored with images like the hopscotch game, which I love.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, my friend. It was inspired while I was reading the Cloud of Unknowing, a book by a medieval monk about mediation (which I learned of at a friend/mentor/colleague’s funeral). Very rich (to me, at least).
LikeLike
I’m going to look for this book. You had me at “medieval monk.” 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
I thought that might be your reaction! Enjoy!
>
LikeLike
Enjoyed this.
Being here, now (where/whenever that is), is so easy to overlook when we concern ourselves about the past and the future, and that is a hard habit to break.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. So glad you did. And, yes, it is a hard habit to break!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Time unravels itself to us in pieces, well expressed here, thank you
LikeLike