• Time to read less than 1 minute

When I was young
I used to not think so much
about time

If anything, it
was exciting

One year I was eight ... Cake,
Candles, Christmas

The next I was nine ... Cake,
Candles, Christmas

Now, time
is the Mammoth
that moves Me
Whether it pains me
or not,
Time is a constant

Though now, I do not wonder
I do

if because of
all man’s
obsession with
I rid myself of items
Once thought cherished
Now, frivolous

In an innate effort
to grow up
   Conformed by society’s
  opprobrium on adolescence
 And the perfidious backlash
would receive
if they hung on too tight to their

Am I drowning in a
sea of
Or am I falling downstream
in a boat
made by man?

Share this and help promote amazing Aussie writing.

About the author:

Jethro Morris

Profile picture for user email_registration_PUkmnkM5zA
I am a songwriter but I lost my voice over a year ago. After I lost my voice, I started reading more and writing without music. I'm not sure if I'll ever get my voice back, so I'm searching for a new one.

Popular on Brain drip

Office Jetlag

Profile picture for user email_registration_q29dHSJAdT

His face was trapped in the ceiling tiles above my computer. I stared at the roof, feeling the bile rise up in my throat. I hadn’t noticed it at first. The line on the bottom could have been anyone’s smile, and the two black dots among the white plaster could have been anyone’s eyes. But after he had leaned over my desk the first time, shouting at me, I stared at the ceiling tile straight afterwards and ever since pictured the outline of his face every time I looked at it.

Closer In

Profile picture for user caitlin_prince_1

You show up in Parnawarratji and try to arrange the single loop of sealed road, the vacant red dirt lots and the dotted housing with massive metal cages on the front, into a ‘community’ in your mind. It isn’t what you were expecting, but then, you didn’t know what to expect. Certainly not so much sky, arcing over the horizon, the line blurred by a hazy fringe of spinifex grass.