Time,

Such a fleeting moment,
Seeming to pass by, like a rhyme,
One second and it’s out of torment.

One second the future is the present,
And the next it has passed.
The rules cannot be bent.
What is the moment now, but part of the past.

How much time has passed since this was written?
A second? A decade?
No importance, that’s for the historian.
It doesn’t matter when it was made,

After all, it was a relic the second it was finished.
In a past that exists only in memory,
Memories can be relished,
Or they can never leave you be.

Time is a thing,
Things aren’t time.
Time pulls the string,
To trick it would be a crime.

A time is now, but it’s the past, and in the past, it was the future.