Monday, October 10, 2016

Becoming Intimate With Father Time...





No, no amount of willpower will keep his kiss at bay
In Time, his silver starlet chaplet halos dreams of May
As scarlet undertow of come and go tinsels the trees
And petals fall like rainbow snow on summer’s plundered leas


Oft we forget the pirouette of moments; soft they splay
Then etch a silhouette of ether worlds on yesterday
In surreal outlines of a shrine which only thought can see
Ah, Father Time, you are a mime of tick-by-tock melee


The buttered side of bread, when we are fed leaves no reward
You strip the ‘buttered-side’ of us as seasons are out-poured
and no one is immune to autumn’s swoon of brooding hue
Aha, aha we say, then gulp its noon of gray-gold-blue


Do you remember, dear, when we thought Here was long and slow
And we were anxious to vanquish the miles we had to go?
When did we start to feel the tug-of-heart where hunger wars?
As After envelopes the laughter of younger Befores


The quiet conquering of ages stages quite a show
The more we learn of love and life it seems, the less we know
So we content ourselves with living moments and not years
For one thing Time has taught us is how slick he disappears

© Janet Martin





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