Poem 51 – Flux

We like to think that time is constant
The regular tock of a ticking clock
But in night’s depth that rhythm is
Disrupted in strange discomforting ways that stretch the hours until you fear they must have
Whilst dark
It’s light enough to see the time
Its face shines from the bedside table
As laying I wrestle with surreal
Fractured thoughts that flit and tussle
Uncomfortable limbs that ache and toss
And tasks for urgent morning attention
Yet unlike mine it does not age
But gazes fixed upon my weary
Brain that cannot comprehend
Its strange nocturnal ways

Not the best night’s sleep last night and no real idea why. Watching Doctor Who’s Flux finale got me thinking about the nature of time and brought last night to mind.

© Ben Quant 2021

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