Time

A quick poem about time itself and how it both gives and takes away. Philosophical.

 

Time is borrowed, stolen and being

It hangs on our wall and it swims in our hearts

Time is a wingless thing

Where our dreams may get their start.

Time is a fluid warrior, who roams on Creation Sand

It always looks and sees, but never stops for any man.

Its not that we aren’t important

Its not that we don’t belong.

Time is our strange guardian

That flows along to every song.

As our clocks hand life to eternity

And our loved ones say goodbye

We wait on the foggy mountains

Trying to understand why.



Sometimes it seems like nothing, a pitiless black void

A thief that steals us out of the light and leaves us blind.

But we know not of eternity, and will be so overjoyed

When time sends us on the journey where its rules will never bind.



That place where the clock sits still

Is waiting and will always be

That place where no dream is killed

Is waiting for you and me.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed