Time

As I sit here warm and shivering, 
I am gnawed at by a machine, 
It is not the device I sit before, 
But rather the device that sits within me, 
Infinitely complex this device may be, 
The greatest of minds cannot unlock it's secrets, 
The machine, 
The horrid machine I speak of is time,                       

Unstoppable as the morning's rise, 
Unfearable as the air you breath, 
It exists between the quick, 
The thumb and forefinger of your mind, 
It cannot be changed, 
It cannot be understood, 
It can't be placated, 
It merely sits there chewing on our soul,                       

The gears they slowly turn, 
The sand slowly burns, 
As it withers through the hole, 
In the hourglass,                       

It comes to me at all my moments, 
It helps me cherish them, 
And fear them, 
It is there when I dream my life away, 
It is there when I sit with my friends, 
It makes a mockery of me, 
It makes a martyr of me,                       

It conceals who I am from me, 
My blood is not my own, 
My ancestors are unknown, 
My begins hidden from me, 
By time,                       

My future it alone holds, 
My present it makes bold, 
Yet there is little I can do, 
Time has made many things,                       

It is the difference between, 
This poem being of pen and ink, 
This poem being of electron and magnetic field, 
This poem being of photons, 
This poem being of thought,                       

It shows me things in the mists of itself, 
It taunts me with dreams, 
It makes my heart cry with fear, 
And joy, 
And sadness, 
And many things that I hold dear,                       

Who are you I cry, 
To the phantom woman in my dreams, 
Who are you I say, 
To the phantom grandparents I've never seen, 
Who are you I sob, 
To the children dancing before me, 
"WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME ?", 
I scream,                       

It rolls, 
It crawls and tumbles, 
Unstopping, 
Unfearing, 
I am not ready for it's gifts to me,                       

I cannot bear the weight I scream, 
But the universe, 
Time, 
Does not hear me,                       

"Where do I fit ?, what role do I play ?", 
I scream out in the dark, 
I have no light to see, 
Yet I fear the light, 
For the truth it brings,                       

"Am I to be special ?, Am I to be normal ?", 
I beg, 
I plead, 
I ask,                       

It's answer unheard, 
My cries unanswered, 
If I am to be special ?, 
What am I to do ?,                       

If I am to be normal, 
What was this pain for ?                       

This poem makes three, 
My heart has cried before, 
Self-lothing, 
Pride, 
Now fear takes it's turn at my door, 
Of all these things, 
Why is mine to be pain, 
Why is mine to be fear, 
When do I get joy ?