Time

A poem I wrote long ago.

Churning, changing, grinding, crushing,
The passage of time moves ever on.
It never ceases, never alters,
Yielding for nothing, no one.

It brings good, evil, happiness, sadness,
Light, dark, joy, rage, elation, anger.
Time cares not for the plight of Man,
For her cares mean nothing to them.

Time has many friends, old and new,
Those who aid her and those who lose.
There is one, Death, older than the rest,
Who gathers all and gives his final test.

Life, the enemy of Death, also a friend,
For Time mediates the two until the end.
Life brings Man together and joins all
With her servants Love and Joy.

Life and Death dance on and on,
Time balancing the precarious two.
She plays no favorites, decides nothing,
Simply being there for the weary soldiers.

Someday, she knows she will come to an end,
And Time will fade into nothing but sand.
She struggles on, taking Man on her journey,
Who has no say and no chance to flee.

So Time goes, moving ever forward into the Void,
Taking Man by the hand and guiding him in.
We all feel Time’s embrace, neither caring nor harmful,
As we go further into what we cannot know.