Fiction Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

What if clocks were just a dream,
And years, a river, not a stream?
If yesterday, a story told,
And tomorrow, never grew old.

No lines upon a smiling face,
No fading of a youthful grace.
Would laughter echo, light and free?
Or boredom settle over me?

Would moments bloom, a constant bright?
Or would they blur in endless night?
No future dread, no past regret,
Just what is now, we'd always get.

Perhaps we'd love with deeper might,
Or drift in endless, listless light.
This thought, a whisper in the air,
A question that we cannot share.