Time
gathered and heaped behind glass. Gravity was pressing down on the pile,
driving the future through the tapered present.
Tiny grains of now. I try and clinch one in my sight, but it is too swift.
Rapidly supplanted by another impelled from above. And then
another. I can’t fix on any of these fleeting instants as they drop on to the
mound of the past beneath. Whereupon they become swallowed and buried and I
spend a lifetime trying to disinter any one lost moment. The future chamber is
empty. Inverting the hourglass I recommence
the ungraspable passage of time.
2 comments:
So when you invert the hourglass, the past sands comes back through, hence the expression, ‘history repeats itself.’ Sorry, Marc, a seriously better thought whizzed through… By the time I started typing, I’d captured this silly one instead. Probably a tactic of minimization!
Oh to be so aware as to be able to fully enjoy even whisks of fleeting moments…
Not sure about inverted history, but that hourglass sure looks like a nice piece of history.
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