A poem written in the middle of the night about the fascinating phenomenon called Time.


1. Time


What is it?

What's the essence of it?

How do you define it?

How do you see it? 

Where does it go when it has passed?

Where does it start? And does it even end?

Does it have any limits?

Does it only have limits?

Is time freedom? Or is it a prison?

Is time incredibly fast? Or is it unimaginably slow?

Who invented time? Or did it invent itself?

Is time meaningful, precious and clever?

Or is time just a stupid worthless pile of meaningless questions, written down by a tired and confused teenage girl - who've watched too much Doctor Who -  in the middle of the night?

Who knows?

Who knew?

And who will ever know?


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