Poem, Short story

To think, to reflect.

Of all the things in all the world, it is thought which is bewitched.

As time moves on and seasons change, the years come rolling by, inevitably their relentless march will stomp upon the present, one grain of dust, or fleck of paint at a time. Even when the world is in ruins time continues its march, dragging dirt upon its feet to bury what once was.

It is for the young to think that what they see is what has always been. What was before lay backwards and nonsensical. It is for the young to hold the certainty that what they know will never change for they are now and not like the old they see as simple, feeble or of lesser thought.

What great pity it is for them to see only when time has marched its march, and so along comes another season and year, to show that certainties are anything but.

That those once young are now the old, their thoughts backwards and nonsensical. And the young they have borne are now the certain ones, seeing others as feeble and from anything but the certain and permanent world in which they live.

But thought is bewitched by time and those with influence who benefit most from changing thoughts. If only the young would listen while they were young instead of knowing that their certainties are certain.

A prompt response.

9 thoughts on “To think, to reflect.”

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