The Poetry Of Time

Time is bitter-sweet, a lingering taste that always takes us back to where we started. The world seems intent on sliding back into the scum filled pond from which we emerged.

Of all the wonders of this world we had but one to choose
Which would it be, the grandest or the one we never use
The one we take for granted as we make our upward climb
From pond scum to the mud flats in the poetry of time
We came upright not long ago believing that in man
The universe had waited for us before time began
Impressed we were with what we were and what we would become
We colonized our minds with notions that we were the sum
Of all that was and all that would be far into the night
That darkness would be overcome by man’s bright holy light
And so it was we slowly drifted back into the slime
From which we came, for we saw not the poetry of time

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