For no man

When’s there’s no immediate danger
Worry people worry about time,
Haunted by the past and future
By a spectre of the present,
In the now, time doesn’t exist
Until you ask its whereabouts
And trace its movements,
Once spotted it’s hidden
Amongst the angst and worry,
And then just like that it’s gone,

Is half a second
Worth the fret of not living,
To die waiting
For the next half second
To be fruitful,
Until finally it mounts up
To a lifetime of looking back,
Regrets,
And just death to look forward to.

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