Through open windows

Through open windows, I see prison walls,
Not built with stone or iron rods,
A foggy mixture blending space and time,

Space is ruled by the dimensional measure,
Conquered with power and will,
Time is different; without feeling or grace,

Marching is the ever-moving clock,
Never allowed to change its pace,
Mocked by a steady tik and returning tok,

Neither saved nor interest earned,
It's given once to treasure or to burn,
This instant! This right now! Changes to then,

Forever fading into the past,
forbidden to return,
Here's the question, I ask,

If not now, then when?