Would you like to tell me a little about that?'
'Well doc, I can't seem to find the poetry,
Though I've attempted and tried.
Sentiments are lacking symmetry,
Messages, well they drift and hide.'
Momentary eye contact, an awkward shift,
Tongue tucks in cheek as eyes glaze in contemplative drift.
A shift forward and examining finger nails, venturing a brief chew of the index -
'I struggle to find the words to express
The inner evolution.
Maybe trying too hard to impress
Like each piece should be a revolution.'
Silence seeps as body retreats to the comfort of the chair,
Burden of weight transferred briefly to crimson threads almost bare.
'Sometimes in life, we're the active contributor,
Crooked clocks bring early chime.
And time seems contracted and linear,
Each moment a constant climb.
Sometimes we're the passive observer,
On the broken glass pieces of time.
And time seems expanded and fragmented,
And more fervently defined.
Such transitory nature, is time, our old friend.
A man-made construct tuned to nature's beginning and end.
And what I question doc, though the words seem to fail me,
Is what really is time doc, and why perception of it is so transitory?'
'Well, through these reflections continue to climb.
In other words I want you to tell me what you think about time.'
Eyes spark, daylight sifts
As the internal question around what this fella is actually being paid for whispers and drifts -
'No wisdom buries in my psyche to pass these lips,
Time, well It contracts and expands at will.
Memories of moments eclipse.
Though some burn brighter, firmer, imprint, still.
And there's no relation,
In their significance and shine,
To occurrences' duration.
Some don't even feel like they're mine.'
Silence drifts and seeps, as time expands in the face of inconclusive thought windings.
'It's easy to get caught up, heaped up, loved up,
thrown up, swept up, stitched up, het up, worked up
And in all of this,
And because of all of this,
And with all of this,
Lose sense of the meaning of it all.
I never knew the meaning of it all.
Sometimes sought the meaning of it all.
Never found the meaning of it all.'
'What kind of ways did you try to find the meaning of it all?'
'To find the meaning of it all - Ah the usual, you know
I've tried switching off, switching on, and stand-by
I've tried working, working constantly, working intensely, working obsessively,
I've tried resting, dreaming, meditating, loving, procrastinating.
I've tried passing out, staying out, burning out.
I've tried avoiding, apathy, laziness, empathy, lamenting, regretting, laughing, flirting, chatting, feeling, drifting, hiding, escaping.
I've tried solitude, lonesomeness, monotony, isolation.
I've tried partying, singing, laughing, shouting, drinking, smoking.
I've tried abstinence, excessiveness, indulgence, poverty.
I've tried academia, philosophy, all the ologies.
I've tried talking therapies, cognitive behavioural therapies, hypnotherapies, aromatherapies. I've tried documentaries, facts, literature.
I've tried romanticism, surrealism, modernism, cynicism, atheism, plagiarism.
I've tried self-depreciation, cockiness, spirituality, humility.
I've tried nature and sunsets and birds and rivers and stars and clean-living.
I've tried backstreet bars and boarded up windows, rocking 'n' rolling, staggering, mumbling.
I've tried affection, deflection, rejection, disaffection.
Let's just say extensive testings have been undertaken,
Am I any the wiser? No!
It's led to no emancipation
And limited places to go.'
'I'm curious to know one thing though. What did your feelings find?''There has been no epiphany,
To spark inner regions of my mind.
I could write you out a litany,
But no wisdom in there would you find.
You know just about the one thing I didn't really try
In all this time, I never tried really listening.'
The Doctor put down his pen, and exhaled a soft sigh, then he looked up, his eyes sparkling and glistening.