The Book of Time

The Book of Time
By Stephen Smoke

Ah, the sticky web of time
   Ensnares our moments past
A melancholy theme is heard
   Nothing ever lasts

Memories like just-glimpsed ghosts
   Dance in and out of view
Remind me of another time
   Remind me so of you

When all we had were fragile dreams
   When dreams came out to play
It seems so very long ago
   And yet like yesterday

The Book of Time is infinite
   Its pages cut through years
It holds the smile that’s seen no more
   And all forgotten tears

Laughter echoes through silent nights
   Like haunting carols sung
By angels who have gone before
   And wait for us to come

But there’s no rush to for me to go
   Nor do I try to hide
One day a door in time will lead
   Me to the other side

The Book of Time is not a work
   That reads well front to end
Uninitiated eyes
   Strain to comprehend

Quicksilver in the mind of God
   Memories are cast
In shapes and sounds that help us sleep
   And make sense of the past

Shadows dance on walls of pain
   To music of the heart
We see the things we want to see
   From which we cannot part

Moments strung like Christmas lights
   That flicker off, then on
The past is past, I see that now
   And yet it’s never gone

The liquid lights of yesterday
   Burn like flowing coal
Rivers that connect our minds
   To landscapes of the soul

Such terrain is what it is
   And cannot be explained
Can always be experienced
   But seldom be maintained

Design so vast, infinity
   Can’t be contained in years
Obvious in children’s eyes
   Alive in old men’s tears

Ah, the sticky web of time
   Ensnares our moments past
A joyous, peaceful theme is heard
   When you’re here at last

© 2002 by Stephen Smoke. All rights reserved.

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