Tomorrow will never come to be,
yesterday never came and went.
Now is so short itself can't be,
the view is distorted twisted bent.
Sound is a figment to hear,
imagination a feeling of alive,
no tomorrow, nothing to fear,
no memories will ever survive.
Nothing to look forward to,
nothing having been missed,
a twisted distorted view,
never being hugged or kissed.
What are we if we're not to be,
when time won't move forwards.
The moments we got to see,
no writing, no spoken words.
Thoughts of reality being a dot,
existing for just a moment sublime.
These mental avenues of thought,
we eliminate the point of time.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 28th, 2025 07:39
- Comment from author about the poem: This was just leftover words that my brain organized into lines. Makes sense but doesn't at the same time. Sorry for having a twisted mind.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Fína Elara 🌙 Petra Patrice
Offline)
Comments2
I have to say if this is a leftover give me seconds. Brilliant wording in the first stanza sets the tone and most thought provoking. Yes there is nothing but the present. A fave
Interesting write. A poem on time is a beautiful choice.
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