Written on June 1, 2011.
For every life they are given time. Time to progress, time to fail,
time to choose, time to live, and time to die. In every second of time
we beat forward or beat backwards. In our memories of going back, we
can see and we can feel but we can't touch. Our time is precious and
our time is limited. Though with all the seconds given to us we'll
never know or decide when our time is up.
In every individual time the clock ticks softer, to louder, to softer,
then to louder again. Some say we control the sound we hear but in
some cases we can not. In each individual time our clock moves
differently and at a different beat. In every beat of time that I
write this passage it stops and starts again.
The clock ticks to the beat of its own drum, I attempt to control it
but it will be ignored. In a world of decision, choice, and image my
time is set back. Time doesn't care about my disease of MS. Time
doesn't care for my lack of decision, my intermediate change in
emotions, my near fact of being blind, or my illusion of finding a
cure. Time doesn't help me get through the daily pain of self
exclusion, it doesn't help me from not running into the future of
being confined to not running my own soul again.
Time does force me to see and feel the pain, but I can't touch it to
help it. Time does remind me of my constant pain I live with. I walked
with the hours of the clock, and suffered by its ticking. In every
life they are given time. Time to decide what is right from them and
some time to decide what is right for others. In time you took away my
child, your time gave me the lack of happiness because of a book that
you think directs our time. Your time told a man for who he was could
not raise his own son, for your time you took his son away and never
gave him back. In time he was lost to me and in your time you gave him
back to me, but in this time I could speak to him I could only say
good bye as I stood in front of the stone that holds his name.
In my time I couldn't grieve and haven't, the negative side of my time
is the bundles of aggression inside. Forgiving me is the time of
sympathy I am not looking for, as in time I will heal. This time that
you know does your time make it different to look at mine? Knowing my
time as a person you may not know is it different then knowing it's a
person you do know.
In every life they are given time. Time to decide and time to
understand. In time it will heal, be appreciated, and understood but
will not make much of a difference. With your time, it will tick to
the next minute until the time ticks the end.