Time travel exists,
you just don’t know it yet.
Most skulls don’t learn
the simplest act of flight.
Dreams fly, hope flies,
but time stands still,
changing colors constantly.
It doesn’t have to be purple
to be painful.
It doesn’t have to be red
to be regret.
Grey raindrops
on the roof.
Green leaves in blue flight
of day-yellow birds.
All among the silver hours,
the bronze minutes,
the gold moments.
Which time is mine?
Vs yours, hers, his, theirs,
the earth’s vs the sky’s.
As the Norton is burning
and Mondays keep turning
into Tuesdays and plenty (until empty)
I am here, with you,
whomever you are,
reading this in your own time,
with its own color.
But what color is forever?
You must decide.
It’s easier to be angry
than it is to be sad.
It’s even easier to be happy.
It’s hard to stand still.
It’s impossible to go backwards.
What does time sound like?
Not a tick, nor a tock.
Silence,
in the shade of now.