Time is a pretense which haunts the mind br With past recollections of words and events br Presumed to exist because we once were so br Configured, involved, that a separate kind br Of reality's granted the heart's own shadow. br Where the heart tries to hold what can only once be, br And the mind by reflection to waken each sense, br Then it follows all life becomes mere memory, br Pre-fixated, now-unconscious, yet-blind.