The Dash
Arms of the clock, short to
tall,
chasing the time man
invented.
Days march like good
soldiers,
tick tock, tick tock,
marching in formation,
numbers in a row.
Each sunset changes guard
on borrowed time.
Another day has passed us
by.
Tomorrow’s arrival,
unforeseen.
Time handed down
to track a straight line,
yet life never moves
in straight formation,
forward is hard to find.
Because neither time nor
growing
moves in a straight line.
It moves in waves,
up and down,
sideways and still.
In ways the forward-looking
eyes
cannot follow.
The line becomes a dash,
a drop, a breath,
between the numbers.
The future isn’t hidden,
it was never a straight path
to begin with.
The space between the lines,
peaks and valleys,
this is how time actually rolls,
appearing in unexpected
places,
out of sacred gaps.
—FromTenderGround🧡
What stayed with me was the line becoming a breath. As if time stopped being something to follow for a moment and became something to listen to instead.
I love how you remind us that our neat little clocks are just trying to tame something that naturally moves in waves, and that the real living happens in those messy, sacred gaps the numbers can't measure ✨