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TIME ( A Sestina)
How do we measure time?
The light flowing from the east, rising
and bathing the earth with a golden sun
daylight stretchs into minutes
leading inexorably into hours
becoming hazy fingers of twilight at days end.
Reaching toward a final end
that moment caught in the web of time.
The last drag of long weary hours
waiting for a loved ones return, rising
fever of anticipation for that glorious minute
faces shining like rays of the sun.
Slowly daylight appears with the sun
and counts the hours until days end.
Children become teenagers in minutes
rushing headlong into the future, time
changes babies into toddlers, rising
and growing with the passing of hours.
Creating change hour by hour
is the passage of the heavenly sun.
Men's faces appear with aging lines, rising
and breeding old men until the end.
Beauty queens, then mothers in time.
Grandmothers turning gray minute by minute
The death of a loved one, minute's
breath's thief, stealing hours.
Slowly the creeping hand of time
removes from our midst the loving sun
and clouds our minds to the inevitable end
of the goodness from which joy rises.
Love sings a song of rising
flowing to the sky every minute
unfinished until the very end
while waiting through lonely hours
for happiness as bright as the sun,
joyful at a lover's return in time.
How do we measure the endless hours
consuming minutes each day that rises?
Never captured is time, or the universe's sun.
The light flowing from the east, rising
and bathing the earth with a golden sun
daylight stretchs into minutes
leading inexorably into hours
becoming hazy fingers of twilight at days end.
Reaching toward a final end
that moment caught in the web of time.
The last drag of long weary hours
waiting for a loved ones return, rising
fever of anticipation for that glorious minute
faces shining like rays of the sun.
Slowly daylight appears with the sun
and counts the hours until days end.
Children become teenagers in minutes
rushing headlong into the future, time
changes babies into toddlers, rising
and growing with the passing of hours.
Creating change hour by hour
is the passage of the heavenly sun.
Men's faces appear with aging lines, rising
and breeding old men until the end.
Beauty queens, then mothers in time.
Grandmothers turning gray minute by minute
The death of a loved one, minute's
breath's thief, stealing hours.
Slowly the creeping hand of time
removes from our midst the loving sun
and clouds our minds to the inevitable end
of the goodness from which joy rises.
Love sings a song of rising
flowing to the sky every minute
unfinished until the very end
while waiting through lonely hours
for happiness as bright as the sun,
joyful at a lover's return in time.
How do we measure the endless hours
consuming minutes each day that rises?
Never captured is time, or the universe's sun.
