Friday, July 23, 2010

The Sea of Time

What is Time,

But matted footprints upon grizzled sand,

Swept silently away by the incessant lull of the ocean’s tides,

Like the foreboding hands on a circular clock,

Time is eternal, cyclical,

Seasons come and go,

The last green leaf falls in Autumn,

Shriveling, wrinkling, ravaged by Time,

The once living leaf passes to dust,

Taken up by the gentle embrace of singing winds,

And blown into memory,

For like matted footprints upon grizzled sand,

We succumb to the vast Sea of Time,

Who’s unremitting tides,

Are dictated by the ominous glow of Eternity’s silver moon.

Michael Althouse

Copyright ©2009 Michael Althouse

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