The Flow of Time

'Time is all relative,' he mumbled as he scribbled
Words drifted, colliding on the board
Meeting numbers in explosions of genius
Or was it madness now? He wasn't sure.

'The day drags endlessly while you idle
The work clock ticks ever slower
Do you not feel the lengthening of a second?'
His apprentice stared in awe and anxiety

'And yet,' he stabbed at the chalked lines
'When you're in the moment, truly there
They fly by in an instant as you grab
Forever wishing you could pause and take stock.'

They considered him mad, he knew that.
His reflection oft agreed and yet
Yet none could deny his truths
Of how Time was mischevious and vexing

'And so, if our mood dictates the passage
If we lengthen and shorted the spaces between
Can we not control it consciously?'
The boy's posture changed, closed down.

Another lost to the inflexibility of his mind
He turned back to the board, the numbers swam
He stared between the moments
All he had to do was think just a little harder.

The boy could never explain what had happened
Only the look of intense concentration
That graced his mentor's face 
To be replaced by a microsecond of serenity

The boy wondered if he had turned his flow of time
Was he past or future
Or perhaps stuck between
In the gaps between moments, watching the rest pass him by.

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