moil

some days seem to race
running at such a pace
we note nearly nothing
a blinding blur flying past
neither good nor bad
those days can last

yet, time being relative
other days seem to live
at such a dragging rate
that sluggishly
we moil and toil
like wildlife drenched
in thick black oil

but still those days
we, too, forget
so in the meantime
cease to fret

time, like distance,
makes things hazy
though this we know
still always we
certain are
the hurts will us
forever scar

but those moments
merely trespass
the worst and best,
they both will pass