Is is Is? Kenneth Udut January 22, 2015 Time is watching, ever
waiting Contradicting, overstating Never given much to ponder As
unmusical, the score. Trickle down, the spiral fountain Giving
life to base of mountain. Have I wandered through the lifeforce
Walking backwards through the door? Underneath the mad Reality
Lies the matter of mortality Has Death wondered and thought "Oh
dear! Am I rotten to the core?" Does Death have a Book of Fates?
Written down our Final Dates? Or Blank are the leaves of paper,
Choice by Moment, not Secure? Flying high above the clouds, I
care not what Death might say. To suffer, I want not, Yet it's
Life I want Today! So what gives, oh Time of Clocks? Must you
always have your Tocks? Or can I, this Pity Fool, Smash your
Ticks upon the Rocks? For I'm always in the Middle, in the Dash
of life, am I. It not matters when it Ends, Of True Time, Ample
Supply. Time is measurements of Boredom, Gaps where nothing new
is heard. At those times are when we realize, "Hah, This Life is
So Absurd!" Yet in moments full of Busy Where our thoughts dwell
on the Moment, Not the Moment for its own Sake But The Next
Thing we must Do. Or we Dwell upon the Past, Making Fictions
Sure to Last Is is is? I asked before. Answered I, "I am not
sure." As I stand upon the Floor, With Back Facing, Open Door.
Stepping through it? Nevermore.
