Today is my father's 86th birthday. His memory is long gone. I find it very hard. When I drive up to visit I ponder deep thoughts to help me deal with it. I often surmise on the uncatchable mystery yet reality of time. I wrote this.
Time is an invisible memory bank
Time leaves photographs counterfeit
Time turns and burns and churns
A tornado with nothing in control of it.
Time is a dance we do to its tune
Time is an artificial measuring space
Time it tumbles, rumbles and crumbles
A cage we make for us to pace.
Time is a capsule that is full of time
Time always seems to leak too fast
Time it breaks and cracks and takes
A hope of forever that never lasts.
Time has worn you out
Time has eroded your brain
Time has brought you down this cul-de-sac
With no turning circle back again.
Time if we could take it back
What time would we go back to
And if time took us back to there
What would I say to you
Would we use the word love
And would that word be enough.