Time

I think, I’ve thought, how long who knows

How time is but a wasting thing, more fleeting than song

Yet that itself does not quite tell, just what it is I’ll say

For time is but a passing thing, that exists for but a day

It’s not a thing that’s truly real, yet something that we feel

While trapped within this dying skin and chained to earthly wheels

TWas Made to make us ponder, the wonders of a life

To fill us full with marvel, tick tock throughout the night

With forlorn and with yearning, it captures thus our minds

Imprisons tight our lonely hearts, makes desperate all our sighs

A dream built up of legend, of bright illusions best

Created for lovers, dreamers, the and those most seeking rest

false and Temporal, fleeting, a delusion of our wits

remains No more eternal, than sweet, light lemon tits

Yes Time is of the essence, of falsehood, tales and lies

But a reason that we tremble, shudder, shake and cry

Time is like true color, which lives but in our minds

While Not until the time she comes, the truth shall we all find

For how ever can eternity, be truly real and true

If only judged by just a clock, with hands and gears and screw

For if our God, he never started, nor birth did he yet pang

Yet always was and always is and always will remain

Then time, no way can it exist, nor clocks err measured ticks

Nor Count the days since God’s own birth, nor time his day of death

For only when this time dissolves, and clocks runs dry with ruin

Can our great God, he have no birth and we…shall never die

(c)2010 Tim Wilkinson & Wayne Wilks