Unwound and Unbound
The illusion of time has a grip on our souls Ticking hands of the clock count the years to unfold A form of measuring the days that have past Always yearning for it to slow, or to go fast Energy is wasted as we fear for an end, Precious time we say, and play the games of pretend A place of comfort to act like we are in control of the source of madness that eats away at the soul The gears forever turn and circle through the motions a beautiful dance that only holds onto all emotions Truly we are not in control of the time that lies ahead, and while wishing deeply to change the past within our heads As we wallow away in this so called time, Our minds reflect upon the mountains that we all climb, To realize that all living should be done within the moment, not based on a clock, but the present because we own it. Not to say that time is not an important thing, For it has it's purpose, but it's better not to cling, From this detachment, life is easier to come ...