Time: water under a bridge, once in a blue moon,
In the long run, wait a minute, no time to spare...
No end of ways to look at time, no end of ways
To spend it, be it to advantage or disadvantage.
Love enriches life, whilst clock-time busily ticks
Our lives away; stealing our youth, defacing our
Dreams. But what of the other kinds of time?
The kind that stands still, the girl who will remain
Beautiful forever, the handsome young man who
Will remain as he always was - in memory at
Least. Wartime has much to answer for.
Time that loves to amble rather than rush. Slow
Time, happy times, still as fresh today as they
Were long ago when work-worn hands secretly
Pressed a little folding money into the palms of
Penniless teenagers, thankful (one hopes) for the
Blessing of doting grandparents. Then there are
Slower times still, brimful, overflowing, passion
Filled summer nights, warm grass, warm bodies,
Acres of stars to marvel at and a time for love.
Heaven above, heaven on earth, a time of dreams,
Of touch and feel, of promise and fulfilment, the joy
Of making love under a canopy of stars in a place
Only two may share. Memories, lodged forever in
The heart; love, locked forever in time. A time to
Keep in mind for the nights and times, when past
Times, priceless times, together times, love times,
Are the only times, that work to warm the chilly
Bones of lonely times.
Time to ponder, time to linger in other times, times
Gone by now, but still consummately recoverable in
The mind that loved intensely but perhaps forgot that
Times and people have a habit of slipping away, and
Before you know it old wrongs cannot be righted nor
Lost-love reclaimed. Sad times that simply cannot be
Expunged, erased or deleted, leaving a heart in the
Cold dispassionate arms of regret.
At such times, songs are composed, poems are
Penned. Time, like the blues, has its own soulful
Notes, sharp notes that whilst painful to recollect are
Strangely appealing. Poetic laments and confessions
Proliferate, readily drawn from an ever-present past
That does not diminish with time, but rather escapes
Time, finding welcome refuge and a sympathetic ear,
Manifest in the consoling words and music of poets
And song writers the world over.
More than one kind of time? Oh yes, I'd say so, hearts
May be broken, loves may be lost, sweethearts apart,
One hand rocking the cot, and therein lies a truth that
Will not be denied, nor will it be silenced: hearts may
Be broken, love may be lost, but all too often, only if
We let it happen. Time, used to advantage, may be
Summed up as being nothing more than: right place,
Right time. Most people know of the challenge, but not
All walk away with the prize, a prize up for the winning
In a game of hearts called: strike while the iron is hot.
If you love her, say so, if you want him, tell him, do not
Leave your future in the hands of time; you will regret it
If you do. Time and love are ticking clocks; hesitate and
All may be lost... Right place, right time? Do not wait,
Speak up: The Time is Now!
© Joseph G Dawson
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