What we call time

What we call time I sit here and wonder quietly where time really is Does it tick out in the open or only when I miss Things are coming, things are going nothing ever stays the same so I start to tell a story try to give it all a name First there’s this and then there’s that and I’m asking what it means every reason draws a pathway every answer shapes the scene Between what was and what could be there’s a quiet moment carrying me I’m connecting the world piece by piece inside and maybe that is what we call time I remember all those yesterdays but they’re not really there just the stories that I’m shaping every time a little different, unaware And I’m painting all my tomorrows in the softest shades I know if I take this step right now maybe something good will grow Everything asks for a reason everything falls into place and I see my own questions are the start, not the end of the trace Between what was and what could be there’s a quiet moment carrying me I’m connecting the world piece by piece inside and maybe that is what we call time If no one tells the story if no one understands is there still a “before” or just shifting sands? Maybe there is only motion with no reason, no design and only when we shape it does it turn into time Between what was and what could be there’s an open space setting me free I’m tracing a line that I choose to see and maybe that is what time can be Dieter Tost, 18. April 2026