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 all work and no clock.

The hand will no longer rise. 

The pendulum no longer sways.

The measurement itself can no longer be recorded.

There was a day. 

There is no such thing.

Not now.