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Father Time
| Open Poetry #48 |
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Father Time |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
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Father Time Cleaning out the dark attic one night, I came across an old, dust-covered book. No title, no author, no copyright, Curiosity called for a look. I flipped the brittle pages, one by one, My eagerness had to be stinted. Then one page made me come undone, It appeared to be freshly printed. Amidst faded, yellow, well-worn pages; Smoothe, glossy, soft-white and sublime: A full-page picture chronicling the ages... The caption only read, "Father Time". I saw a gray-haired man in white Standing taller than the skies. In his right hand he held the sun, so bright, Yet a more prolific flame burned in his eyes. His body stemmed from an hourglass Which seemed to have no end... One through which all eternity would pass, And all life would descend. A childlike innocence seemed to annoit His face, so wrinkled and defined; While his beard ran sharply to a point Where the shades of silver shined. His hands were boney, withered badly, Skeleton-like and pale. Knotted, twitch-like fingers slithering madly To each tapered, sharp fingernail. His left hand was clinched tight, to a cane That a magic aura surrounded. From it flew forth all wind and rain, And through it all lightning was grounded. I found myself lost in this picture, Staring at it endlessly, in awe. Then it revealed more than art or literature, I couldn't believe the things that I saw. The old man pointed the cane towards me, And lightning whistled passed my head. Then with a voice quite deep, commandingly, He stared straight at me, and said: "Time is but the dream of life Broken down into sections— Each and all blessed a lifetime rife In memories and reflections. But now is all you can ever save, There's neither past, nor future for certain. So don't get caught being yesterday's slave, Or try to peek behind tomorrow's curtain." This magic set me marching in mirth, It had my spirit singing to the winds. I knew it was of unimaginable worth, I couldn't wait to show all my friends. "Slow down, dear child," the voice again unfurled, "A fortune indeed I have shared. But all the riches of your mortal world Can't shine a light to the words that I bear. And all the dear secrets I have shared with you, I dare not breathe to another soul. Time lie in your hands, but silence must construe, Tell me no other human will know!" Immortality or riches... well, what a quirk! The geezer really had me perterbed. I halfway sighed, trying hard not to smirk, But the patriarch, now, seemed really disturbed. I watched a tear fall from forever, And I found myself petrified. He called to me, but I couldn't dissever My voice from my inside. 'Twas then the old man trembled and shook, And I came to see why it mattered. As the golden ball fell from the book, I cringed, watching as the glass shattered. He dropped the mighty staff of rain, While his arms, they collapsed in despair. The white page now donning a yellow stain, As the corners started to wear. I watched a sand fall through the hourglass, Till by a billion others it was swallowed. It shimmered and shined as I watched it pass, But as I looked on, no others followed. It was then the slowly fading vision Closed his dimmened eyes and died. The consequences of my indecision Leaving me grieving inside. And still the desires in me are burning To flip this page— to share his rhyme... But froze, in a world that's no longer turning, It seems there's no more Time. Michael Anderson 9/20/1991 [This message has been edited by Michael (07-28-2013 09:55 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2013 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Michael, this is magnificent and truly worthy to be called great. quote: Although there were many other lines to quote, these two grabbed me the most. I absolutely loved this poem so much I didn't realize it was so long until I was done with it. Tho I have been writing words in my response, I truly feel that I haven't given the poem it rightful measure. ~*~ Did you hear about the cross eyed teacher who lost her job because she couldn't control her pupils? ~*~ |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California |
Thank you, Jer. Your praise means much. I think it an odd coincidence you latched on to those two lines. I was looking through my old poetry, trying to find something not so dark and jaded when I came across this. It reminded me of when I used to write for the love of writing... for the creativity I could pour into almost any topic. I miss that. Too long I have been yesterday's slave I think. Michael |
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