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TIME

TIME

Time is toneless temporary thing

Yet to its gauge we raise note and sing.

Time has no odor, and has no taste

Yet contours life, post haste.

Time has never yet been fully seen

We know not if its fat or lean

We assume its half-way clean

Yet yield ourselves to its touring stream

Time has no bulk, has no weight

Yet is in charge of “go” and “wait”

It has no muscle of its own

Yet still decides when seed is sown

When timothy and clover are mown

When wheat’s heads bend down with a groan

Time ages all youth, ages all sages

Time yellows the book’s first and last pages

Time controls the curtain on all stages.

If you were to meet the “Mr. Time“

You’d find him gentle, a bit sublime

More given to prose than to rhyme

Time has no face yet marks all faces

It speeds through youth with its paces

Flows through middle life’s laces

And ends all old-age races.

Time has a name, as a demeanor

Makes many things thicker, thinner

Decides the losers, crowns the winner

Runs the “show” but never shows its smile

Starts and ends every motoring mile

Decides fall’s fashion or “out of style”

Defies definition in diction books

Is impartial to the honest or to crooks.

Time is the control we’ll someday lose

Whether upward or downward way we choose

Treat time with solemn respect

Do not its lesson once neglect

Heed time’s ceaseless call and beck

Time, so powerful on this earth

Timing, so important in joke and mirth

Time, nice to all, regardless of birth

Will someday find its run its course.

Be as out-of-date as buggy and horse

It’s on a collision course with another force.

An angel will, with foot on sea, on land

Bring time (as we know it) under a band

It will have its “Custer’s last stand.”

Time, so impersonal, so “just”

Alike to crushed, and to “upper crust”

Prodding pioneers (“California or bust”)

Will have its final flight and fling

Will lay on its side, a warn out thing

Eternity has a totally different “ring.”

These lines fail to describe

The millions of every un-lost tribe

Who’ve suffered time’s relentless bribe.

No king has ever had the power

To buy at death, an additional hour

Be life’s closing sweet or be it sour.

All princes have obeyed time’s rule

As have their court’s odd-dressed fool.

Time wears out the best tool man makes

Time exposes all hypocrites and fakes

You cannot both eat and have your cakes

Yet soon (a time-relevant word)

Time’s closing, dying cry will be heard

And time as seen and felt by all

Will receive its last, its ending call

At last its perpetual motion will stall.

Friend, love now the King of kings on high

‘Cause when time ends – endlessness draws nigh

You can greet it without a sigh.            

– eab, 8/27/11

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It can be measured (often is),

Though it’s never been seen.

It has no color of its own,

Not blue, nor white, nor green.

 

It can’t be successfully weighed,

On balance or on a scale,

Yet it’s always up for “grabs,”

Daily this object’s for sale.

 

It has no height from which to fall,

Cannot be rolled into a ball,

Is “long” or “short” by attitude,

Is loathed or loved with gratitude.

 

What’s this thing o’er land and sea,

Ruling the dry and maritime?

Give up?  Don’t know it by now?

It’s that commodity man calls TIME.

– eab,  Feb. ‘05

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TIME” changes all around it

 

but nothing

 

changes “TIME.”

 

– eab, 6/10/10

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T i m e

Time has silently but steadily

 

slipped past the narrow moment of the present

 

                    and lies on the floor of the past.

– eab

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      Eternity

     – Time

=  Eternity

 

      Eternity

      + Time

=  Eternity

 

      Eternity

      x Time

=  Eternity

 

      Eternity

      / Time

=  Eternity          

-eab, 5/31/09

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There are men of phenomenal wealth,

Some gained honestly, others by stealth.

Men who can buy and sell a whole town.

Their fortune seems to have never turned down.

If we don’t watch, we can envy such “blokes”

As more “lucky” than the rest of us folks.

 

Money is just a means to an end.

It can’t make a “home,” or a marriage mend.

We place too great an imagined high,

On money, gold, and what silver can buy,

Blinded by dollar $ign$ we fail to see,

In wealth, they’re no richer than you and me.

 

Time, dear friend, is the truest treasure;

The rich and poor receive the same measure.

Each start their day with a fresh supply

Of hours which drag or go flying by.

“Money Bags” has no more time in this day,

Than the poor: close or a continent away.

 

Each of us should value time, make it count;

No one has more – no one a less amount.

Time may yield you marriage, happiness, a wife,

Money can’t even buy a slight sliver of life.

God’s given “today” – use  it wisely, every hour.

Time, not money, has true-value power.  -eab, 11/3/06

 

Written when I pastored the Kingston Pilgrim Holiness Church, Ontario, Canada 

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It can be measured (often is),

Though it has never been seen.

It has no color of its own:

Not blue, nor white, nor is it green.

 

It can’t be successfully weighed

On balance or on a scale;

Yet it is always up for “grabs,”

Daily this object is for sale.

 

It has no height from which to fall,

Cannot be rolled into a ball

Is “long” or “short” by attitude,

Is loathed or loved with gratitude.

 

What is this thing o’er land and sea,

Ruling the dry and maritime?

Give up?  Don’t you know it by now?

It’s the commodity man calls TIME. – eab, 3/3/05

 

 

Written in Kingston,Ontario,Canada

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