Elegy for Father Time

Along the footpath home,

I espy an old apple tree.


Branches grabbing past the heavens

for something more significant.


I toss my knapsack aside

and dig in my coat for my pocketwatch,
while scrutinizing my newfound token,

I see him, Kronos.

I see him, a reflection in the polished metal.


I remember him, but Memory tells lies. 


My eyes examine eternity,

his everlasting ebony beard 

stretching below his knees.

His golden scythe supporting his

hunched back; an oasis for

his thundering wings.


Clothed in a withered robe,

he clutches an hourglass, forever in hand.


Never did I see him step backwards,

for he consistently walked forward. 

He spoke to me bluntly, “Time moves only one way.”


I stared into his piercing blue eyes and round trifocals

which rested upon his weary brow;


for I knew that time never stops,

so I asked “does it ever end?”

This poem is about: 
Our world


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