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time

aarwen

Stolen Time

Those rare moments when the world fades away and a quiet descends. I found myself in one of those yesterday night. I could hear myself think. The voice inside did not have an exhausting quality like a fan noise reminding you of the heap of dishes in the sink or an email from a colleague needing a calm response. Neither did the voice have the quality of a performance coach cheering you on to visit the gym or get up…

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Poetry

every now and then

my world collapses every now and then in the middle of an afternoon under an indolent sun when the air doesn’t move and the fan’s whir is a reminder of a thousand other worlds in a million different snapshots of time that linger as languid as the mid year sun minstrels of all my worlds that did sooner or later coalesce and cease the earth turns inexorable, programmed i am time’s magnet, how can it escape now it races, now…

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