The Paradox Of Time

What were we doing; when time came about;
certainly not passing the time of day?
Time has turned all thinking inside-out;
leaving us little time to pray.

I cannot conceive of a world without time;
only in heaven could it exist;
where thoughts, conceived; become sublime;
like the time we first kissed.

Time numbers the pages in the book of life;
paragraphs become minutes, too;
precious is the time between husband and wife;
time holds things together like glue.

We spent so much of our life just waiting;
life’s book contains empty pages;
countless pages are thoughts, debating;
each of us claiming to be sages.

Life would be better if time truly marched on;
but time often insists in standing still;
I look for that day when all time becomes gone;
for such is the Master’s will.

Time has become our perpetual master;
sitting on his throne, to rule;
the essence of time can lead to disaster;
time is the devil’s favorite tool.

Time is the ultimate paradox, sublime;
as life energies become unfurled;
the devil can wait till the end of time;
for he has all the time in the world.

Monty 11/13/24. # 2,441