The Egg of Time

It still comes down to
the chicken and the egg,
everything does.  How 
did we get here?  How does
something come from nothing?  
And yet, here we are.  We are
here: if someone or something
put us here, where did They or It 
come from?  If no one put us here, then 
what the heck are we made of?  Even if it’s 
all a facade, there still has to be some energy,
some spirit animating all of this, making us
believe.  Where did that energy get its start?
It doesn’t make any sense!  Maybe I’m crazy,
making all of this up from my perch in some
solipsistic bubble, but I am here having these
ridiculous thoughts—why, how, for what!?

Time is the opposite of everyone, every step
fueled by time, running on time, life and time
burning one another efficiently, leaving no 
trace but the past.  In the future, maybe 
there’s life there, and if there is, it must 
be met with an equal dose of time.  
When that life ends, so does
time. I’d say time goes on, 
time can live without us, 
but what sense does that 
make?  If a clock ticks 
in the future, but no 
one’s there to hear it?  
Time runs out for
all of us eventually, 
and in that event,
even time runs 
out of time.