Time V

Stone spoke slowly then.
Thought took whole seasons to turn its face,
and a question could rest in the mouth for a lifetime.

In the caves of Plato’s echo,
time walked in circles,
soft-footed, patient, curious of its own shadow.

In the age of prophets,
time breathed—
it waited between words,
and revelation stretched wide as the horizon.

When hands found flight and paint and gears,
the minutes appeared and thus quickened.
Oil turned, sketches moved,
the heart of motion beat through copper and cloth.

Now the field stutters with its own reflection.
Moments overlap, collapse, restart.
We live inside the shimmer—
Temporal rising, coherence tightening,
each instant shorter than the one before.

The world learns itself faster now,
and calls that learning

time.