Literature is one of my addictions. Like any drug, I need more when I go without for a few days. My cheeks become flushed and my voice sharp as glass. My tongue sweeps the sharp shards of wit. Time is waiting, like a panther in the inky blackness – when you least expect it, it has you in its jaws. I’m running late. No time to wait. I dress quickly and eat a bowl of weet-bix. I pop a pill. I’m now ready for the day.


The dawning of a new day and what does it have in store? I become weary at the mechanical juggernaut of moving cogs and hands of my watch, beating purely for the exactness of time; how can one define something so abstract? I open my mouth and begin reciting: Time stands by. The shifting sands of eternity wait for no one. Time is an abstract three- dimensionality – measured uncertainly. Shifting sand – an ethereal thought and deed – born, then dies. Such is time, once here and next gone. Future beholds quantum change. For the past shall be. Like a falling star. When there is no star left – there shall be no future. And the past shall be remembered – alas the poor future. For the bloody worm of time has you for his bride. When consumed – there will be none of you. Sweet innocence – rotten by time’s unyielding pleasures. I do attest to time’s increment of change – it beats for you and me.