A day goes by routinely
In the same one singular life
The hours reset perpetually
But the years are finite though rife
Like a wheel that keeps spinning
On a long road unwinding
Up goes down and round and round
But never on the same patch of ground.
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one who forms opinions on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief; one who doubts or denies religious dogma
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Thanks for the appreciation, f241vc15. 🙂
1. By "singular" I meant "individual" – a non-repeatable life. Our clocks may strike 10am 365 days a year and our calendars may show a Tuesday about 52 times a year, but we will be 30 only once.
2. This poem is finished as far as I'm concerned, but it would be nice if others would add to it. Although everyone is invited, I would especially like to hear from those with Buddhist backgrounds because I've heard that they do not look at time as linear. 🙂
3. I guess you could also interpret it that way, though my thoughts are actually a lot simpler – that the hours and days repeat perpetually, but the years do not. 🙂
Hey nice short piece you got here.
Would you mind if I ask a few questions about it?
1 What do you mean with 'one singular life' ? Do you mean a simple/spartan life, without much complexity whatsoever?
2 I noticed that the earlier 'time and life' posts aren't really poems, or at least not fully poems, and it seems to me this poem isn't finished yet. Or is it?
3 Does circle represent the wheel that passes along the straight (line of life) i.e. one's journey along the path that is life?