A Human Construct by: Rose Clifford
I am told that time is a human construct,
A figment of falsity given to us as a gift-
As a way to measure events concretely,
Bounding them to an intangible order.
But, how does my life fall into those lines,
when my thoughts are forever morphing?
Disfiguring themselves, and configuring,
something flawed, yet new.
I want to break the ends of time,
refraining from a stern outline,
That I do not want to be glued to.
By replacing it with a timeline all my own,
so I do not feel pressured with time’s original form.