Why must I continue to count up or wonder if it’s coming up? Like what is it? If it goes up then why must I worry about it going down? Is it because it shall reveal what ends? The preparations complete or revealing that I don’t have enough? was it wasted? Maybe I should take better care of it but is it really mine to hold? Perplexed, though I retrack statements to measure the weight it holds. How long should I explain? Should I keep it short? When can I simply say I’ve had enough or desire more? Digits calculated to explain the passing years; you could honestly say my days are numbered. But we watch watches wondering when we willingly will win. Yet we concede to the flow or stream, allowing it to define the lines we wait for. I wrestle with the shadows display as days are set by sun. Hands moving in circles ignoring the dropping sands burying my existence in history. Orbit in system in order of rotation spiraling since the Genesis. Bring me revelation with Z’s or in Greek, the omega. Presenting presents so I can now say it’s past when I later arrive. Before, I actually clarified, such a paradox is it not? I guess this is why I now walk and let it pass by, valuing it, but sometimes I forget and while I’m here, I’m disputing time.