Clocks are omnipresent, constantly ticking, urging us to stay on schedule. Spring, however, is a different story – it refuses to be bound by the limitations of time. The hands of Spring move slowly and steadily, devoid of the mechanical jolts that govern our lives.
Spring is not a machine with gears, weights or springs ticking away inside it. It is a delicate, slender and unencumbered thing that evades the heaviness of our time-obsessed world.
When Spring arrives, we can kiss our beloveds without the tyrannical hold of clocks seeking to govern our every move. In Spring, time loses its grip, and love can bloom freely, without the ticking of the clock interrupting our tender embraces.
:: 04.27.2023 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 