Chronos

Rush hour they call it

Then why does it move so slow

Have you got any to spare they say

As if you could save it, like grasping oil with your hand

When is this, what is that, as if there is any control 

When you need it most, there isn’t any 

And when dread is upon your soul it crawls by never moving forward

You are wasting it they say, as if you had it stored

How do you spend it they ask, as if it was yours to coin 

A gift they say but who gave it

A new day they say but who determined that

Who set it into motion and made devices that track

Tiny increments they measure and chunks they call by name 

A drop in the bucket to the universe, an eternity to man just the same 

The expanse knows it not, nor the deer of the field or the fowl of the air 

Only man, and he treasures it

As if it was his to keep, and when it’s run out

We moan, we cry and we weep, not for them

No, but for us, we know it is our turn next

For no one controls it as it moves forward

Yet it stands still for the eternal ones 

Captured in stone or bronze they remain 

No effect it has seemingly so, but one day they too shall fall

For it is the master of everything and of nothing

It has no real name, only what man has deemed it 

His feeble attempt to measure it can never count that high 

It never stops

It never ends

Chronos, the unseen...

-Michael S Wigington