A (token) protest against time

With my time-drenched hands,
with the wintry kiss
of yesterday's failed promises,
I hold on to this moment,
not knowing I am.

Battered by time's raging torrent,
I protest in stupor,
to the mayor of existence
that 'tis not fair how frightful the years
have been sucked from my veins.

What use is a protest,
when time yet leeches, and the bucket
of experience,
is still dripping like rain?

Don't ask a lion not to roar!
Time cannot ignore
the flux it does perform
to aid its sister change
in their rampage of this world.

It is no tragedy that we are wiped
from the pages of life
for like ink
we are are less than paper thin;
we are ethereal living things
approaching the gates of timelessness.

Can we stare down time,
eyes fixed on the Now?
Pierce the shifting veils!
Bewail this drowning in rivers!
Awaken from lost years of hypnosis!

Heraclitus, are you still standing
in this raging river of moments?
These shifting sands have become
one with your decaying bones,
cemented in flux.
We don't stand in the same river,
neither twice nor even once.

Can I give up this romance with time?
My slaps to her face don't seem
to unwed her from my side.
She still looks at me
with longing. But do I matter to her?

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