Out of the Window
This poem was one of two written for our monthly church poetry group at St Michael's. The theme was 'time'. Out of the Window There was a day When Time did not so much run away As fling wide the window and hurl itself out, head first, without a care for the fall or how long it would be before springs and cogs and oil spewed out across the road, causing cars to swerve; with Time, instantaneously suspended; unable to move at any miles per hour. It had been fun. You were supposed to fly. From that moment forward, hours lasted for months. And years went by before I could gather a sentient thought. The very essence of my world captured in a freeze-frame of perpetual collision. These words mean nothing now: After, Then, Next . If, Tomorrow, Soon. There is no Now ; There is only Before . Now, my wounds will not heal. I am greyer; that much I know. I see less well. Am I older? How could I be? I hear the tick, tick, tick... But it is a...