Atom's Eye

I wrote this poem and made this collage together. I'm not sure what I was getting at. I must have been feeling lonely and unseen. Lost in the middle of the time of my life. Being alone, yet still feeling love was all around me, probably just confused me. Or made me mad. Or both.

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Some might say the end of time rests merely in the
eye of an atom, actually in a thing smaller than an
atom, but whatever that smallest thing is, it is in the
eye of that smallest thing in which the end of time
exists. For time to end, some suppose, it would have
to be witnessed; even if only by the smallest of
everything that ever was.

Some might also say that love comes in shapes of
things. Loves is this size or that color or that form.
Or some form at all. Some would surmise that love
must take on form, because if it did not, how would
anyone know it ever was there? Some say, love must
look like something to be understood.

These same someones could go as far as to claim that
life itself must push forward to some purpose or
place, in order for it to be valid. For life to have
importance, it must go forth and do. Do anything:
Thrive. Make. Breath. Kill. A life must be busy so it
knows, and is known.

And there are theories about other things, like
beauty and structure and meaning. And they’re all,
as far as I can tell, as hopeless as the next. Whatever
they might say, it is only true that, beauty is ironic,
structure is flawed and meaning is sought, borrowed
and created.

And of time and love and life?

Life is valid, just because.

Love doesn’t flee, even if unseen.

And it is when we don’t look, that time disappears.