time flows

a poem about our experience of time


time flows,

or so they say,

the people who write of such things,

but who knows,

from where time comes,

and to where time goes.



time flows,

as a river carving its course through mountains,

mountains of what might have been.

if the river of time had not made its fateful choice,

to follow some silent voice,

to feel the weight of some eternal, relentless gravitas.



time flows,

each passing moment followed by its shadow,

the shadow of memories being pulled along

in this moment's wake,

always lost in yesterday,

but never, ever gone away.



time flows,

endlessly, momentarily,

the water moves on and on

turning over and over upon itself,

making ever deeper, deeper,

the gorges of our ways,

with the passing, the constant passing of our days.


yes, time

time flows,

or so they say,

or so it seems to be,

as we pass through the endless mountains

of all that might have been,

like an aging river

going home.












The End

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