Time

              By

       Mark M. Lichterman

 In the segments of my life,

in the younger years,

in my younger years

time did not move.

Days were never ending;

one following the last

with a full twenty-four hour count

each hour a full sixty minute count.

In my younger years

time never moved;

time taking a life-time

till old enough for dad

to allow me into auto

to explain

the clutch,

the accelerator and

the break peddle;

to explaining the mergence

of shifting gears

with the play upon the clutch.

Time took three lifetimes

to come to age sixteen.

From sixteen to twenty;

the good years,

the years of high school

of girlfriends

of part-time work

to pay for the girlfriends,

of part-time work

to pay for the girlfriends,

to pay for a ‘47

De Soto with Power Glide.

Responsible but for myself,

time now began to move faster.

The years of family,

the years of my family,

of my wife,

of my beautiful,

then young wife

and of my children.

Of my beautiful

Then young children.

These years,

the years of family

sped by,

sped by so quickly

as my children

went from child

to adult.

The years of family

sped by,

sped by so quickly

as my children

went from dependent

to independent,

to now,

within their own lives,

to now as my children

became familiar strangers.

Now older,

and older yet

as now time flies.

Time now flies as

day merges into night,

as night merges into day.

Time now flies so quickly

that if today

were Christmas

tomorrow then is

the Fourth of July.

Time now flies so quickly

that If this day is the Fourth of July,

tomorrow then is Christmas

and between,

the time between:

the days,

the weeks,

the months

between are a blur.

Waking at five-thirty,

into bed at ten-thirty,

mornings come and

nights go and

the seconds,

the minutes,

the hours between

are a blur.

Ten thirty now,

feeling tired now,

time for bed now.

“Goodnight.”

©May 5, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman