The Sands of Time

What shall lay hold upon the mind of man

that it may stand and see that time commands

the past, the present, and the future ways

that man will seek in his dying days

to sum the pursuits of invented whims,

to please the gods of assorted dins?

And how foolish will he feel just then –

in knowing that everywhere he’s been,

that every thing he’s seen and heard,

were the lots of Spoil and Absurd?

For who shall remember the quiet One,

who sat and watched what came undone,

when cultures molded man’s thinking ways,

with stones of penance, myopic praise,

when the dying cried in reason’s ear,

when faith departed, caved into fear,

when the stars shined down in Omen’s name;

a life that was born for only death to claim.

And what has become from the points diverging,

to the trumpet sounds of many voices urging,

that imparts to us such complex schemes,

to manifest and evolve man’s dogged dreams?

And then we see through the portal’s past,

that nothing created was ever meant to last –

all that has failed were not the ‘dreams sublime’,

but the symphonies of destruction within the Sands of Time.