If I could turn back time,
If I could reverse the earth’s axis,
Like Superman did in the first movie,
Oh the changes I would make.
Henry Bemis knew about time,
El Tiempo Bastante Por Fin.
Time (noun)- a nonspatial continuum in which events occur
In the time it takes me to write this poem,
648 people have died,
1602 children have been born,
Born into time.
in apparently irreversible succession
It keeps going.
Without our consent,
Without our permission.
Though time did stop for Moses.
If I stood on a mountain likewise,
With both arms lifted up,
Would it stop for me,
Or would I fly?
from the past, through the present, to the future.
If time is this vehicle I am riding,
Then my past and regret,
Are twins chasing me on a freeway.
Two pale apparitions that have come to interrupt my prayers and dreams.
What is done is done.
There is no going back.
Consequences meeting me now,
My past’s future.
Am I riding time?
Or is time riding me?
Can I control time?
Or is time controlling me?
Time has not been kind to some,
Yet a savior to others.
Some people serve time,
Therefore is time a master?
Some people give time,
Therefore is time a gift?
Some people need time,
Therefore, is time a necessity?
The ox and lamb kept time,
Therefore is time a possession?
Yet, time was separated,
From Before Christ to Anno Domini.
He who split time in twain.
He who does calligraphy with the sands of time.
He who writes out the screenplays of our lives.
Whose art is in Heaven,
Protect us from,
Save us from,
[Poem #24 of 30. Image by h.koppdelaney via Flickr and a Creative Commons License.]