Time Lies

Day twenty-seven of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about time …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: lightfetcher dandelion via photopin(license)

The clock ticks,
Time passes at a steady rate.
The Past wanders from sight,
Disappears quietly from the cavalcade
Into the shadows to die.

The Present crawls like a caterpillar
Consuming everything that it can.
Unaware of all, except now –
Secure in its form.

While Future promises
That it will turn unseen,
Like a confidence trick
Into a wondrous butterfly.
That flutters transcendent, glorious for a day…

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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