Time


When the clock’s hands travel,
Does its inner workings wonder
As it watches us gaze at its timeless movement,
We subtracting time remaining,
It knowing time has no limit?

Perhaps it sees us stare at numbers
As if they be tenacious landmarks in stop motion orbit,
Digits holding like lonely sentinels
Guarding the fixed passages of life’s journey.

We watch this precise start and stop of perpetual movement
Challenging distance and time,
Wanting immortality to be a possibility,
Thinking life might cease,
Oblivious to existence knowing not a demise,
Only a change in form.

How innocent our youth,
Apprehensive our adulthood,
Anxious our aging experience
Wanting the end to be but a new beginning.

To avoid disappointment,
To embrace the unknown as wisdom-in-waiting,
To console loved ones that doubting is waste.

Lest we forget,
We are matter.
Matter cannot be destroyed.
Such knows not end.

For some,
Death is only to see a dark hallway,
Or a cliché tunnel of light.
For some of us,
No frills and sanctimonious knowing does it.
There’s merely trust in continuance.