'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.