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.

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