top of page

POEM: Contradictions of Time

Updated: Dec 2, 2019

by MICHAELA KRAWCZYK - May 8, 2019


What do we call a world where the week is the worst part of the month? And what do we name a life

in which a person begrudges the beginning of the day

before it has even begun?


The hour we change our clock to is the same hour we use to set a bomb,

its fuse burning away as fast as the seconds of sleep we promise to ourselves the next day.


What do we call a world when time is rushed, outcomes forced, and opportunities missed?


The generation craving innovation is the same generation blurring together days;

fusing the experiences and layering them like glass,

subtly distorting the view and perception of everyday values.


Experiences overlooked, knowledge ignored, solutions found undiscovered, and an age of explorers left alone, holding a corrupt map of glass.


What do we call a world in which years are too fast but hours too long?


How can a people fear the passing of life,

yet strive to push forward the impatience of time?


The man crying at his daughter’s graduation

is the same man checking his watch during the ceremony.


And the man digging graves for a living is the same man using that shovel, like the hand of a clock, to carve the sinkholes of contradictory ideals in which this society continues to fall.

Recent Posts

See All

Isabelle Snyder - May 5, 2023 Time is everywhere. You hear it when you hear the ticking of a clock. The rhythm is steady, like the beating of a heart, slowly tricking you into thinking you have just a

May 5, 2023 When I go to college and am all alone I'm going to miss the place we all call home. Sitting at the table while all cracking jokes Inhaling the smell of turkey being smoked Hearing the soun

Josh Young - April 13, 2023 Don’t feel ↓ Look ⟳. It’s → there Where you ← it, Chin ↑

bottom of page