The Time is Now
Time is something I ponder quite often:
‘Time is standing still’
‘Time is flying by’
‘There's never enough time’
Time is a construct of our own mind,
it lives within perception;
created to help keep track of what a day is and to separate it from the last.
‘It's a new day’
‘If only yesterday’
‘There's always tomorrow’
But that isn't true, is it?
Tomorrow only exists in your mind. You could walk outside in an hour and get hit by a car on the way to the grocery store. And then people may say, "It's not fair, it was too soon. We wish we had more time."
More time-
as if it's something that can be acquired and bargained for.
I think what people really mean to say is, "I wish I hadn't wasted the time I had."
Time can be a warden of the prison in your mind,
the kind that traps you inside memories,
and the memories trap you inside your pain,
the pain then replays the memories of things you wish you could change;
mistakes you've made,
the people you miss,
and oh, how you will reminisce.
But what if tomorrow doesn't exist?
Take a deep breath.
Inhale. Exhale.
Do you feel it?
Time just is. And you are here. Now.
In this moment.
What will you do with it?
©S.J.Reed
Another Random Zoom
If anyone wants to join. The writing prompt is based on three visual prompts and the theme is pariedolia.
https://us06web.zoom.us/j/81012121645?pwd=ipp7PHjkODek28dYusS4HQgftGM4kD.1
Understood and Heard
I have always been told to listen,
not to make things about me.
So I dig deeper into people,
ask questions to truly get to know them.
But I sometimes crave
reciprocity.
For someone to ask the questions I pose back.
To have someone want to get to the core of me
and see all the things that have gone undiscovered by so many others.
Genesis of Imagination
Waterfalls of acrylic pain shower brown roads
And the cellophane palette dissipates slowly
Into a shower of multicolored tinsel and gems.
The family steps out, curious of the new world.
The mother, with blue hair down to her butt.
Held her child in one arm and her husband's
Callused, ogre-like hand in the other.
Cautiously, they explore, following the river
Of parafilm that once kept them in reality
Down a precipice towards the forest that awaits.
The forest to soon become a home for them,
The unwanted thoughts and ideas of the world,
Where they would rule and decide what goes.
They lived long enough to create the laws,
Fusing chaos and wonderous intrusive thought
Into magical creatures and crazy scenarios
Their son watched and admired, growing older,
And more fascinated with what the world refused.
Winged horses, horned rabbits, wide violet grasses,
Lilac-scaled lions with translucent skin and flowers
Made of greyscale wax with purple stems and thorns.
No law in the land went unchallenged or overturned
Except that the imaginary and the real must stay
Separate by all means, even during war and famine,
Even when those with imagination die and leave
Abandoning what they created into this microcosm.
The parents broke one rule, one fatal rule, and left
Their son in charge to never make the same mistake
And make no exception for any dreamer or wonderer
No matter what the situation was. Distraught and lost,
The despot ruled from his childhood home, the large
Marble castle overlooking the rainbow waterfall
The family once followed to create the world known
As Makk Bellif, a refuge for those imagined, created
From theory to imagination to arbitrary thoughts
That plague every human, young and old, in their sleep
And sit on their chests, suffocating them during the day.
Watching them, coming and going like waves of emotion,
The despot tries to ensure their safety and keep them
From disappearing forever like his parents.
Inside the Tragic Mind of a Serial Addict
Who was there
as life tried to erase me
when the lights went dim,
I wasn’t.
Cultivating years of excess
stimulates a flow of
verbal diarrhea
and mental excrement
to be smeared
upon the walls.
I feel desperation
from being locked
inside this reality
that refutes my existence.
Lost in a mental labyrinth
trying to escape
the redundancy of
this manic continuity.
I’m suffocating
on my twisted thoughts
in this sea of chaos.
My life is a tragedy
wrapped in
yesterday’s trauma.
