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Poem: Time Is Not the Net 

Time is not the net.
Time is for us now a perpetually rushing wave

and we are constantly taken under.

Time is the water around me
the sea I cannot yet escape.
I thrash
escalating my fears by disturbing matter at higher frequencies
but time never changes.

I remain submerged in both its joys and pains.

These are the nearest elements
as buoyant and inflated as I am
all coined and caught, pulled and soon buried.

Here, self-control is a relentless siren and treading
   does not sustain me.
Time is rushing, perpetual, water
and only the Mystery above my diaphragm keeps me floating.

Soon I will rise and know what I trust:
some do escape.
And there is indeed a net wider than the sea.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Margaret Ferrec


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