Time Is Not An Illusion. It's Merely Meaningless.

A stone has a Name that is Itself a Stone.
And only one Tongue can speak it.
A star is called by what It Is
And never answers. Deafened long ago
By the sheer magnitude of Being -
A Grain of Light in all the Dark Of 
An Unfinished Dream 
Of a Lonely God.

Stars are Occupied with Dividing Eternity
In half. Too Innocent to grasp 
The Futility
Of every Beam of Light
Hurling at the Velocity of Now
Like a Ray of Sisyphus
Pushing a Premise to reach
A Plateau
At the Peak of an Infinite
Slope.

Time Is Not An Illusion. It's Merely Meaningless.
With no Mind to Record even
The Passing of a Day.
Like a Void as placid
As a thimble of rain
Resting on a Counterpoint.

Without one.