By what measure is time considered long?
We might just as well say time is oblong.
For that matter, why do we say time is short;
We could just as easily say quick as a last resort.
Is time short for the likes of a bored and tired schoolboy?
Is there time enough to spoil pleasure for a serial killjoy?
For the poor and the wretched, time weighs as heavy as granite;
What seems long for a person is but an instant for a planet.
A long time for one is a short time for another;
Its true length depends on something quite other.
Time is measured in precise movements of the globe;
It moves around the sun and spins on the axis of its orb.
The spinning gives us our beloved days of the week;
The grand movement produces the seasons we entreat.
Seasons that tell us something about our true nature.
How we adapt to the seasonal changes as a human creature.
Autumn brings falling leaves announcing the cycle of death;
Winter calls for hibernation and produces cold white breath;
Spring brings the possibility of renewal in its full depth;
While summer produces Earth’s garden extensive in its breadth.
Old man time would no doubt tell you the meaning of long;
Primordial time would no doubt be on the right side of wrong.
The trajectory of time’s arrow flies forcefully through the air;
The speed of time’s arrow decides its arrival with time to spare.
The riddle of fleeting time lies in the expectation of its arrival;
We envision its second coming as the source of our survival.
Sadly, time disappears when it arrives as if it were never there;
The future becomes the past evoking a kind of universal despair.
Why, one may rightly ask, is time’s insistent movement so upsetting?
Our minds clearly see time’s passing thru endless hours of regretting.
Time’s passing moves forward with the insistence of a metronome;
As the planets and stars forever move under Heaven’s eternal dome.
No matter how much times dies there is always fresh time to spare;
No one should question time’s legitimacy and risk error if they dare.
Some think of time as a spinning wheel that will never be undone;
Others think of time as a thread that time herself has cleverly spun.
as if a wheel or a thread, . . meanwhile, our best brains are still like Pentium 4 or 5 which cannot realize and correlate time with space. But the time will come and upgrading of our mind to Pentium 11 or 12's analogue shows us the way ('to the next whisky bar' ;))) Joking apart, the temporary solution can be found out directly thru the spatial decision. How? Let's continue to speculate upon that. A huge task, a global discourse we witness here. Cheers, alex
Time is indeed a challenging subject that I,for one, have been exploring for a very long time. Your word-play here serves any of us concerned with why we invented time with a stick in the sand to our present day digital perfection of time passing. Well done.
The moon. The seasons.......years, decades, and so on and so on. You have captured the very essence of time and set it free with your pen. Thank you for this treat!!
Time exists solely through the passage of seasons. Humans are responsible for calibrating it into 24 hr. segments by which we measure boredom or accomplishment. One who multitasks and crams so much in a day, for me, time flies.
I have focused on these lines of poetry which sum it up for me:
Sadly, time disappears when it arrives as if it were never there;
The future becomes the past evoking a kind of universal despair.
You've managed to pin down such an elusive subject.
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
This is my personal inspirational book of poetry. It contains many poems written for family, friends, and relevant life situations. Hopefully you will find some that will encourage and inpsire you in whatever arena you are found in your circle of l
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thought provoking article
It's been a long time coming, but your poem, rather lengthily, tells the short of it.
Ron
sometimes slow, sometimes fast.
Days turen into tears,
until we run out of time at last.
Michael D.
Love ya!
Jane
I have focused on these lines of poetry which sum it up for me:
Sadly, time disappears when it arrives as if it were never there;
The future becomes the past evoking a kind of universal despair.
You've managed to pin down such an elusive subject.