Metronome

You never see the minute hand move. You see the second hand endlessly ticking away its existence and you catch the smaller of the pointers frolicking across to the next hour but you never see the minute hand of the clock move. You're wondering about it and before you know it, a clock's image stands gaping in your mind. You see its big hand and its small hand and the one embarassed to be always stuck in the middle. It came to your head instantly and now you're marvelling. It won't ever come to you just like that, but your synapses lit up when you understood me earlier. You feel knee deep in metronome but Einstein says Time is an illusion. You read that again because you're not ready to believe this unforseen enigma. Despite such accusations Time keeps running. It refuses to be governed by none, not even Space. And it's been running since the start and whether you believe your whole existence is an illusion or you're just a number getting lost in a stream of recycling data, it will keep running. Every jump into the next minute the hand makes you don't see, are probably the things in life not looking at you. Oh are you back with the clockwork? You look at the second hand and run with it.