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July 12, 2015 / hbrowne4

Time by Frank McGuinness

For something that does not exist
Says the physicist,
Time sure makes its’ presence felt
Out of absence
This measuring monster
Drags every errant rhythm to
Its’ dominant resonance
Every life, body, mind, agenda
Gives way to its’ encroaching sway
If time and space are constructed forms
What is the field they rest on?
Is there a foundation under here and now,
A common resting ground
For the weary, restless
And the breakaway joyful?

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