The Linear Nature of Time

The hours seem like seconds

I cannot catch up to the busy hands

of time itself.

She pushes forward, ever faster

She eats our pasts, leaving only the shell

of the essences of what once was.

These empty fragments, echoes of reality

stored in soft tissues, so fleeting

Informing every action, reaction

And we cannot escape them

no matter how we try

We are every moment that led up to this moment

We are made up of these

Cracks in our spirits, 

and yet she softens them with time

except for the unfortunate

with a recall too vivid

she attacks these soft tissues

Her march unyielding

until we are left with nothing