We were asked during a church group (don’t think I’m giving anything away here) whether we viewed time as a friend or enemy. Jotted this down, and liked it:
Time’s a vessel ——>
Used well, it can hold my life
& give it form;
squandered, it constricts me.
It’s a tension, like trying to write
in verse, or pluck out a musical chord.
I’m an artist with time, & not
a particularly good one—
he says, arriving late to class—
But one who appreciates time’s form,
the lure of the past,
the glitter and anxiety of time to come,
& the possibility in now.