Some time gaps seem to be longer than others. The old tea kettle phenomenon. Half an hour later can either mean minutes, or hours.
No wonder, if even minutes can make the difference between life and death. There is only one truth that can put a stop to all this. We all die.
Even though all the dictators in the world, and their followers and wretched copycats, might think otherwise, no one lives for ever.
Their dead and their living victims might even decide to send them a curse in order to speed up time. Where a strike will be shattered and thousands are slaughtered, a gap might be the solution. An o for an i in the word strike, and they're gone.
That is why the future is already written, after all. For all of us, the end is clear. And no money and no power in the world can change that.
We will all rot.
© 2017
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You see, here you'll find poems of opportunity and seasons. They're mine, though, so I have to protect them.
Welcome! If you are willing to follow the iconian path, you should know that it is always you we are talking to, even if it is not. And that everything is true, even if it is not. We all are eternally united in the last space possible where even the impossible is real. We ought to believe the foretold: If we'll meet tomorrow, next year, or never, it doesn't matter, it's only time! And everything, even time is fiction.
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