Flying, fleeting at furious speeds
Whizzing past the past,
The memories of the remembering,
And for the lacing, the needs;
As life halts, watching, its face aghast.
Precious as a pearl, fickle as a flower,
His disastrous arrogance is to be feared,
All hopes of immobility smeared…
To quicken to His pace cannot be,
Yet lay the dreams of many…
Bearers of His fruit, victims of His pride,
His ways are tricky as the games of light.
He arouses in His subjects a hope,
An anticipation for tomorrow may it be,
When before the blink of an eye
One mourns the slipping of eternity.
“To see the world in a grain of sand”
Is to comprehend Chronos.