Time

[Erthona]

I regret that I have but one life,
not to give… but to live!
Here I find that before I have fully entered
I am walking out the door,
in the midst of walking forward
I find I’ve turned about;
like a match, before it's fully lit,
I find that I'm snuffed out.

It is true I’ll admit,
I have been at times
a spendthrift of minutes,
a wastrel of hours,
a squanderer of days,
as I idled in a diffidently
hesitating, halcyon haze.

At times too,
I have been a hoarder of time,
a miser of the fleeting moment,
a collector of the clicks of Cronus’
heels as he strides across the
titanic gulf, over the starry field.
Still, time is not a set of baseball cards
that comes with stiff-stick pink-gum.

There is no coin with which
time can be bought,
to then be categorized,
and put neatly in it’s place,
in a book of like minded cards.

There are none like minded,
time does not mind, but instead
expects to be minded.
Time is often sought,
but rarely found.

One might just as easily
walk down a sidewalk
and find it lying on the ground

A pack of knaves, a house of cards,
a ring around the rosy?
It matters not for in the end
we all fall down humpty dumpty:
broken, fragmented,
a shell of our former self,
never to rise again.

Time cares not, it makes no amends,
it is the unglue that throughout
the universe permeates.
Time wishes not to create:
but only to unmake.

The un-maker procreator
of timeless destruction;
the succubus of life.
Sucking the life out of energy,
and the energy out of life.
It is true, wise men have found,
that even when sated,
time continues
to

wind

down.


© -Erthona