Time was never born in the garden;
it never becomes a sprout or flower.
Time never requires a pardon;
for the past, is the present hour.
Time can’t exist in a world of thought;
for there isn’t any limit to being;
everything becomes, all that It ought;
for the mind does all the seeing.
Time stands still in Eden’s garden;
for it would be wasted, if there;
no need to say, I beg your pardon;
for thoughts, already, all share.
Evil cannot survive in such place;
deception simply cannot attack;
no one’s thoughts, require space;
and, no way to turn your back.
Time must be allowed it’s space;
but in Eden, space is not there;
all thoughts, overlap and embrace;
in a world devoid of a “where”.
Time didn’t die in the past;
it’s dying every day;
when each one breathes their last;
time is dead, to stay.
For time only lives in materiality;
dies whenever you leave this world;
it cannot coexist with spirituality;
earth is only a Hologram, unfurled.
But time's never lived in the garden;
it has no grave in Eden to adorn;
no gravestone, plaque or any pardon;
for in Eden, time has yet to be born.