Saturday, July 23, 2011

The Time

The Time
Tick, tick, tick.
A sound so seemingly common,
A tick of the clock.
Many think not of the ticks of the clock,
Bringing things closer,
And showing movements of the times.
Yet each second be unique.
It be unrecoverable,
Never to be seen again.
Every second,
Minute,
Hour,
Day,
Month,
Year,
Decade,
Century,
And millennium.
Gone.
Never to be noticed again.

It is difficult,
To comprehend,
Just what the time maybe.
For whenever you give a man the time,
It already be the wrong time,
When the words escape your lips.
For time moves swiftly,
Ever pressing,
Never ceasing once.
Until the end of days,
And then what shall it be?

Many pass through life,
Oblivious to time.
It rules their life,
Provides a meaning,
Yet few do examine closely.
Those that do,
Fire question,
And rarely receive an answer.
For how does one,
Truly get,
The realness of the times.

Is it man made,
A creation by those of earth.
That time it is but a name,
To an unnameable thing.
Or be it the creation,
Of a god or something similar.
That hath provided it,
To help guide,
The things that do exist.
Could it be nothing at all,
A mere figment of the imagination.
Or be it all or none of these,
Something much more obscure.
Whatever ‘tis,
Description it does evade.
And wisemen of ages past and future,
Will continue to ponder its mysteries.

So time,
It ticks,
Our life away.
For all its wonder and its beauty,
Its secrets it does keep.
Always to remain obscure,
To the minds of mortal men.

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