Time Is Not Against Us

The gift of poetry.

The most beautiful things

can only be described

through vagueness and metaphor; abstractly,

we are like flies to the fire,

not in the sense that we die when we hit true beauty

but as in we, as we know it,

cease to exist.

Time is not against us.

Time enwraps us

like a mother waiting

for us to understand and see her,

notice we are inside her womb.

Ripening, time is waiting for us

to abandon it.

We think we created it

but we just gave it a name.

Because we named time, ‘we’

from the future and from the past,

we can remain;

but it is once we are born

that it will get tricky.

Omnipresence, infinity,

out of the womb, born into the beauty

in which we cease to exist—but shine.