Tick-Tock Slavery

How trifling
our chosen measurement of time,
Where hourglass,
Clock hands,
Top-of-the-hour bells ringing
Grant but minuscule meaning.

To watch clouds maneuvering space,
To feel the changing roils of gray
Playing tag with sun’s patience,
To allow the forever-young playfulness
Inherent in restless winds,
Is to feel time-pieces of nature’s perfection.
Proliferating the endless rebirth of creature and plant alike.

Perhaps…

While surviving our adult impatience
We might recall that
Only the child,
The innocence in us all,
Regardless of age,
Must continually struggle to remain
Nature’s guardian of time passed,
Preserving its nowness,
While accepting the sun will move,
The clouds will roll,
The wind’s swirl of yesterday’s passage
Into tomorrow’s need of another day
Will always keep us reminded
There are endless pieces of time
Made perpetual by the never-ending cosmic presence.

Oh, to be void of prescient measurement,
To embrace the natural gradations of day and night,
Just as creation’s light and dark intended,
Is to afford all life its due,
Its evolution of before and after without regret,
It’s joy in just being,
Needing not the tick-tock slavery.