Continuous, relentless, metronomic, is time,
but perception may offer a different opinion –
when we love that next minute which seems to rush by,
or loathe another which won’t go away.
We need some transitions, we ask for some endings,
so we give ourselves artificial restarts:
we welcome new years with rocketry countdowns,
though the after is really the same as before,
and we rarely notice that a like celebration
takes place precisely one hour away.
Last year’s memories, both good and unpleasant,
will now be consigned to the filter of time,
as we travel onward and wish everyone “happy”,
toward unwritten pages and uncertain days.
– Peter Schmidt (January 2021)
Back to Verse and Prose