Time Control

Time doth taint the faint of heart
By painting truth where once stood art
And shining light in corners dark
From ancient moor to morrow’s hark
Perception forged with dawn anew
The day’s deceptions drawn to view
Our misconceptions now construed
With every moment thus imbued
So hapless are we to contest
The trappings of its false arrest
We must abide by its behest
Beholden to our sown duress
But only with its presence nigh
Doth life exist within our eyes
It must persist lest we devise
A narrative bereft of rhyme
We struggle to appease its ire
Befuddled by the muck and mire
This force of nature ne’er retires
The nomenclature of expire
At best, the past and future stations
Merely are but speculation
We have only one salvation
In our present indignation
Futile flights of fantasy
Flown by fools on fated eves
Found fast the path to effigy
Forged by the wrath of flippancy
So when the tower’s bell doth toll
Sing loud its reverie with soul
Think of it not as time control
But that by which all life unfolds

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

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