What Time Is It

The question isn't a step forward. The question is a stalling point. When one questions they are observing, possibly conversing, and always attempting rational contemplation. The question makes time not matter. The answer at hand takes a measurement of time to gather. I don't like questions where answers can be found. I like looking through the dark. I like imagining the light. I move slow, so as not to stub my toe. I question why I even am questioning, while I ask myself a question. How did everything that is, become? Why does the light burn out, but the dark always stays? Why does life feel so good, and kill just the same? I question all of the time, making use of the time I aimlessly ignore. If I'm lucky I may stumble across answers. Time begins again, until time travelled, becomes a time unravelled in questions that for the time being stall thought into thinking. Think and you shall find, and when the answer is found see if only you can answer this question without asking or looking. Let your imagination tell you... What is the time? This about sums up all religion, which is something that fascinates me, because I question if faith and truth are related. Time stands still, when I imagine they are. Time races forward when I rationalize that they aren't. Both answers are left in the closet, with the door shut, as you try to decide what to wear on this day you have not even seen. There is no wise choice when you're left in the dark trying to make sense of the time you have left. Now that you know you can't tell me the time without time telling you, don't keep asking the same question. It's a waste of time. Answer it before you even ask.