The March of Time

Today’s date is made of numbers

Though not traced to a true Day 1

Did time begin with the first Big Bang?

Or the lighting of our sun?

 

Did our own clocks start with a birthday?

Or nine months before in the womb?

While Earth spins and marks days passing

Tick-tock, toward the tomb

 

Every second left us is precious

Wanting neither good nor ill

A fragment of a lifetime

To be bent to serve one’s will

Choices

Which sea denies the pull of the moon?

What puppet dances to its own tune?

A barbed and chastening valentine

No choice at all; the fault’s all mine

Could do better, the report card says

But how to change one’s errant ways?

Alas, some choices can’t be mended

Outcome’s not as was intended.

Each act’s curtain draws to a close

Why it matters, none other knows

Reflections by a Window

See, the world is still out there

Beyond the glass and frame

Lit by sun that breaks in here

Warming me the same

 

Sky shimmers in summer heat

Birds dash about for food

I rest on the window seat

In melancholy mood

 

I ponder on the happy scene

Of plants and living things

Wondering what it all means

And envy birds their wings