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Day Two Hundred and Eighty-Five: Too Familiar,

 

How peculiar that it is not writ

That we have a right to know the time,

To know where we are, in the grand scheme,

The grand space,

Where we are in time.

Some of it we know, the sun passes through,

Dials change,

It gets warmer, the sun disappears,

The moon disappears, one slice at a time,

But that conformed, comfortable slice of time

Where we are, positioned, the true honest base.

Do we have a right? 

Is it writ in our constitution of being a human,

Our natural freedoms,

Is it something that is tangible enough to be placed down?

To be remembered?

Oh time, how slippery, and yet how vitalt.

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