Lost In Time

Did my life have purpose, make a difference, was I real…

Original DDE™ art: “Lost In Time” — by: rob kistner © 4/5/26

—-<§>—-

he runs
he runs
he knows not why—
but still
he runs

he feels
not real—

let this not be but a dream

a brushstroke loosed
from the painter’s hand

does this rain
pass through him
as if he is liquid

the clock
he has always chased—
is it dissolving—
not breaking
…but fading

let me not fall loose of time

does he no longer
catch light
to hold a form
in space and time

time’s becoming light
light’s becoming breath—
and he runs

do not let me disappear

he moves
not forward
but into vapor

each step
less weight

each splash
a soft erasure

unaware he is not running—
he is becoming—
something unbound—
‘tween before and after

a pulse
without measure

hear me
this all cannot come to naught

not a shimmer
between seconds—
where nothing is changed…
and nothing is real…

but rather…
…an expansive element
of time—
an eternal
evolving energy

always then…

always now…

always ever…

hear me

<~>

rob kistner © 4/5/26

Poetry at: dVerse

 

12 thoughts on “Lost In Time”

  1. The art you designed seamlessly melts into the poem’s imagery, Rob, in the flight in time, in space. I love your use of the imperative voice to add an urgency, an expressive force of feeling, reorganizing time around him. A surreal, glorious piece of writing.

  2. This, to me, carries a message for us aging ones. Well….we’re all aging…but you know what I mean. The reflection of running….or standing still within time…of time disappearing…a pulse without measure. My favorite lines:
    “brushstroke loosed
    from the painter’s hand”
    Is that what we are? When looking at the generations before us and those in line now and those that will come…perhaps so.

  3. i DEFINITELY feel all that running in my bones…
    everyday is a new rush!
    Loved the space you created in this poem! And Inception is one of my faves!

  4. “he is becoming—
    something unbound—
    ‘tween before and after”

    I like your concluding imperative: hear me (no matter no matter.)

    1. I think I’m starting to sense what you mean, and what meant by Om. In the poem, “he is not running—he is becoming” is me feeling that underlying something—the energy that’s always there. But it’s also confusing, even a little frightening. I didn’t grow up with those ideas, so coming to them has taken much of my life, still feels ill fitting. That’s what the “becoming” is for me.

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