Christopher Hansard:[Time]

where does the time go?

the time from which you built your life

wove your memories

painted the walls of the rooms

that you call your self

where?

The time was never there at all

impressions fleeting

that is all

like wind on water in the darkest night

a hissing and movement

of elements

ask you Self

who are You?

and the question

will reverberate throughout

all things

until it shatters the

fabric of the self and its countless worlds

and free

discovers the that there are no questions

and no answers