Random creation. Photograph by aksoy.

What are you pointing at?
Who would know?

The only certainty of time
is the next position
of the second hand.

As the globe turns,
so does the minute-hour-day,
but which way?

The only certainty of time
is that things will never
be the same.

My mind will freeze
this moment of me
spinning out of control,
into a memory.

As time melts away,
I’ll always recall
how I never knew
if I was moving too fast
or not at all.

Rate this poem at Lulu Poetry!

I came up with some stanzas of poetry for a presentation for African-American literature. The presentation was on Langston Hughes and the Harlem Renaissance, so the idea was to adapt one of his poems to better reflect the present-day era.

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