Mankind walks upon a very thin line Each but a tiny thread in the great fabric of time Twisting and turning, weaving as they go Always moving, sometimes fast, other times slow.
The past and future are connected by the now That is the only absolute that time will allow Variables make up the rest of the space, Affording individuals a unique freedom of pace.
Each of our threads’ tethers one day shall fray, From time’s great continuum, they fall away, Unable to stay in the present, the future will not come, As we take life’s last breath, our thread is done.
Reblogged this on Hugh A Tague's Poetry And Prose and commented:
For my friend Donny Hays,
whose thread has frayed away.
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