Perhaps an existence lies outside time,
State of being where occurs no change,
Where moments passing are illusory rhyme,
But such is far from our conscious range.

No, for us, life paramount is the moment,
Slice of time that from the future wells,
To us conscious present is an event,
Passes, and in vast history dwells.

And in the passing we discover loss,
For never again shall that moment appear,
That perspective we hold dear or dross,
Harvest of meaning, or emptiness drear.

For inherently laid in time’s grinding mills,
Are subtraction and death finely blended,
Each new moment its predecessor kills,
It’s own death implied, by next is expended.

We can’t exist in a world of change
Without taking loss as inherent part,
How sky looks right now glowing orange,
Green leaves in the wind dance and dart.

Birds on a wire, feet grip so tightly,
People on the street scurry in haste,
Sun shines through sparse clouds brightly,
A kid on a skateboard, shoes unlaced.

It’s in the nature of having moments,
You never get the same one again,
And that’s a thing that makes sense,
For all the things we fight to win,

The things that give life joy and meaning —
Music, playing with children, dancing,
Reading, thinking, making love, preening —
Are based on the next moment advancing.

On time passing, on change, and on loss,
An infinitude of moments passing through,
Then behind us stretching our lives across,
Without time’s passing, no me and no you.

Death of moments is required for existence,
Alternative is time frozen in place,
Nothing before nor after, no sequence,
No child, no parent, no sweet lover’s face.

Each moment is precious coming our way,
Entrained on rails our future encroaches.
We devour each In turn at work or play,
Waste none for our last approaches.

When the last shall have flowered and died,
We marvel at the odds our existence beat,
For multitudes had no moments to abide,
But we lived them all, an incredible feat.

© 2005 R. Leland Waldrip