And Time Keeps Ticking

 Featured photo taken by M.J. in 2017 using a Nikon D3400.

So, I’ve had a series completed in the past called Spring Cleaning. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that this is another “cleaning out” of my closet of poetry, writing, and lost thoughts. However, with the new year, and with the exciting post (just previous to this one) “I’m Just Gonna Go For It” followed by the anticlimactic suspension of any just-go-for-it posts, I did start looking back at the drafts I had piling up in my WordPress. I’m scared to commit, and to make bold statements like, “I will just go for it,” but I’m making an effort to click “Publish” for the pieces that have been collecting dust for a little too long. And, by collecting dust, I definitely mean that they’ve been untouched since I last visited them which means that they are by no means refined. Yet, this piece is a little settled, I think, in thoughts I’ve accumulated over a tumultuous year…

Original Publication Attempt: January 1, 2018

This is a piece I spontaneously wrote, no editing involved. I thought it’d be nice to write a little something for the new year to reflect on some realizations I’ve had about life, time, and relationships.

January 1, 2018 — In True Human Fashion

Interesting how it takes years to build a relationship,

But with a short moment’s disregard a friend can become a stranger.

Familiar faces turn to shapes and shades of unfamiliar presents.

The still that is captured in photos we hold in our palms return to chaos,

Rippling images of doubt and misunderstanding,

Long wonderings of how they got there in the first place.

Silence is a true killer, the test of endurance, the neglect of others.

Whether intentional or not, absence is the devil and tortures the mind.

As the clock tells time and hearts beat to its hand, people pass as living beings

Who walk this Earth in true human fashion, one foot forward at a time.

Sometimes, they’ll stop, as one would in front of a Red Hexagonal Sign.

But many times, the color is obscured into a strange hue, even greyscale, and the letters fade into its backdrop,

How easy to disregard?

Curiosity may spark a desire to decypher what the hexagon should read,

And one will stand in front to give it the attention needed, perhaps the removal of dirt accumulated from years of muddy rain puddles splashing up to its face.

Maybe a paint job would do, retouching the worn surface, weathered from standing for others–the revived message, in reality, up to the patron who fixes it.

One will do it!

Though said one is not one to be known before the day that said one stops in front of the confusing sign.

What compels the hesitation and patience to try?

Yes, one will do it, but when? When? WHEN?!
Years pass as do seconds; the measure of time, man made.

It is conceptualized, realized by the mind that perceives.

Regardless, it moves. And it lives.


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