Time: A Poem of Changes
Time
The sun shines and time is
Still water with scarce a ripple
On an endless July afternoon
Where shimmering
Dragonflies hover
With nowhere to go
The rain rains and time is
Whispering, slipping sand
Falling as a million individuals
From a wide place
Through a narrow place
Into another wide place
The clock ticks footsteps
On cobblestone
Midnight streets
Wary of the stranger
Yet assured
Destined
The millstone of the Earth
Grinds the seconds
Into pure white flour
We sculpt into perfect
Little oblong loaves
Fifty or sixty hours per week
Your own heart will tell you
This is true: the sun, the rain
The ticking of the clock
The millstone footsteps of the Earth
Mark the beginning and end
Of you
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Time is the great illusion. It is the game we sign up for. Here we race against the clock, against age, against the fast motion of harm and the slow motion of gravity and friction, and it seems that every race we lose.
Yet you can't lose a race that you don't run. Don't do it if it's not fun. What do you want of this short, sulky hour upon the stage? What do YOU want? That's what it's about.
This would be poem 18 of 30 for NaPoWriMo 2012.
