TIME

Stand still, if you will—and wait

For the movement of the hands

Across the face of the clock,

Marking out each moment,

Moment by moment in an instant

Where there is nothing else but

The vast emptiness of echoes,

Resounding across the halls

Of history and mystery, while all I can do is

Be.

Existence is measured out

Step by step in each moment

By the all unseeing hand that moves

Each foot forward (always forward)

And onward (always onward)

Toward the end that stands below

Six feet or so

Deep.

And on my face I wear a wearisome smile

Of

Sanity and senility, while I lose every bit,

As it slips—

Slip, slip, slippery—

Through hands far too small to stand up tall

Against the hand that stretches forth

Inch by inch, measuring out foot by foot

Each and every step

Into eternity,

Where I will resound with a resounding sound,

An echo of the echo that echoes across the halls of

The mystery of history, which I cannot master in these

Days of momentary existence,

Which are fleeting and flitting by

As I fritter away,

Moment by moment in an instant.