Time is Zebra-Striped

Sometimes
in those quiet moments in-between
all that is and will be
I hear the sounds of battle.
I think
A hidden war rages
in places I cannot see
I sense my future-
The full scope of me-
dancing as Damocles
merry in all I cannot see
a hair’s breadth from the final release
of failure and farewell
but then the in-between ends.

Time begins again.
I look for my normalcy bias
if found, it carries me through
to the familiar ground
on which I frolic ageless in time

and if the war does rage,
surely it isn’t mine?

About viewingcamelot

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