Between Letters and Numbers
For humans, We are born into time, And our conscious understanding of time Is arguably what separates us From other forms of life. Our memories serve as the frame That hangs our living moments Into a great hall of records, And most of us strive To achieve this goal. But we humans were not Formed from time itself, And any sustained consciousness Won’t cradle into time’s curved spine, Just like a ship’s course is Not determined solely by its anchor; Rather, it is the sails That spirit the wind, And it is the wind that propels The craft beneath the stars. Time is our course, But it is also our curse— the necessary subject t hat predicates our existence— And for this period, It serves as a sentence of sorts. For what it’s worth, We will always know time u ntil we don’t. Until that time, Time itself will be as pressing And purposeful As the day we discovered it. The young girl did not know That she was deaf and blind. This is not the sort of thing