What it is

What it is

Long it is
too long to grasp
but long
to get hold
I still do

Still standing
I am
just as long as it is not

How can I be blind
to something that never passes but always passes by
continuously caressing and compressing me
so that I feel lighter
and heavier
with each little bit
that presses into me

The more I strive
against
the more
I dive
down deep
too deep
But reaching the bottom: impossible

A seeress I am
oblivious of reason
forced to observe
what doesn’t show
what takes and gives
and in the end what fails the one who lives:
the more I get
the more I lose.

Must I digress
in order to find
order in time?

Because
What is time
If not the place where my body strikes my consciousness
Where I become to overcome mere being
Where I linger
resting
and waiting
to see?

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