Time Machine

“The clock keeps ticking, time silently slides away”…

Evaporating water, on an arid desert day;

But, luckily - we are a time machine!

This ability to transition –

A play DISSOLVES TO: a new scene;

To correct our latest edition –

The errors revise, and update what`s seen.

“Time is intangible”…

So, why then, do we say it passes?

Like an individual

It is: the sum of ones` cognition;

And with each most recent addition,

The old value – the new tally surpasses.

Our DNA is passed along.

The personal genetic history,

Each generation, is handed down –

A preliterate bards’ song.

In the pool, pieces of “we” are found;

Floating in those waters is our story –

Driftwood left in Neptune’s territory.

The ages and seasons are – regularly shifting,

They spin (in eternal inertia) as if: a top;

Still revolving, it (all) has yet to stop or drop;

The universes` fundamental force, it`s resisting.

This poem may lack the feel

Of what is perceived as poetry:

No flowers hiding in a happy field,

Few clever metaphors are concealed;

It`s more like discourse of philosophy.

But…

To this poet, the encapsulation of beauty

Is: every experience (occurring instantaneously)

Which belongs, to the reader… each conferee.  

So to a degree, we travel on a timeline, which extends continuously;

Forwards and backwards, ancestors and descendants, and us eternally.

Composed By: A.D.