Time
Shivering leaves,
A running breeze,
They come and they fade away,
Starting bright and ending in gray,
A question is thrown,
The answer is borne,
By the carrier of all things,
The mother of all things,
Then they fade and fall,
Dying, the fate of them all,
The sun warms and stills,
The light floods and fills,
Ghosts of night gone,
The angels have won,
They revel and rule,
Like all the other fools,
Then start to fail and tire,
Like a sputtering dying fire,
Having consumed themselves,
The light half-hearted dwells,
Knowing it is old,
Afraid, what before was bold,
The ghosts are born again,
A new cold plays then,
Brushing the leaves and feathers,
Running among tussocks and heathers,
They always forget, the fools,
They rejoice, men and ghouls,
As though they were needed,
They cry aloud, sometimes heeded,
By others who are passing,
The Silent One is laughing,
They live and play like they will always,
Reaching the same house, all their pathways,
Where they will eat clay and dream,
About nothing though it may seem,
The place of darkness and dust,
A lock eternal, covered in must,
What you wish you cannot have,
Gilgamesh or Adam, neither has,
Not Yahweh nor Zeus,
All will end as refuse,
We can only forget for a while,
Be fools and let our joy beguile,
So when you have nothing but day,
Rejoice, forget, laugh and play,
Reap your wheat and make your plan,
Man reaps life as time reaps man.
Copyright 2008 George Saracen
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