Member Poem

Time ticks on tiptoes into dusk and dawn,

As ev’ry tock becomes a yesterday,

And ev’ry hand propels tomorrow on.
 


The measure of its minutes paves the way

Towards uncertainty yet understanding,

Whilst we along the road less travelled stray.
 


No matter how extended or demanding

The course may seem on sore and shuffling feet,

Time hour by hour progresses notwithstanding.
 


And echoed in the metronomic beat

Significantly sounding from the heart,

Time loops on end, though seldom on repeat.
 


With every sun ever comes another start

To go the distance of its stately arc,

Time firmly at our backs in his winged cart.
 


With every moon ever comes a solemn dark

With reminiscence of the day gone by

With which time aids us aim towards the mark.
 


And swirling through the trees, across the sky,

The wispy whispers of the wind relate

Ours is no more to do as it is to die.
 


The telltale heart and steadfast hands of fate

At steady rate the glassy granules pour

Onto the floor, as time for none would wait.
 


Time is an ocean ending at the shore,

The ebbing tide reflecting pride and sorrow

From our cathartic knowing of the score.
 


Time is a gift for us to merely borrow,

And savour every second of the fun,

Lest empty pass into the last tomorrow.
 


We ever must walk before we learn to run,

And ever must down the winding road press on

To properly declare our purpose done.
 


For killing time may be so lightly drawn,
Yet time kills us in stages ’til we’re gone.