It Calls

It calls. A silent constant nagging, From the past it calls again, on relentless. Its words and thoughts are always present, Guiding, clothing, no part shall ever be whole. On it goes as only time can, No substance, nothing but altered force. It calls and one day we will hear, The knowledge that can only be self taught. With no dream to remain unattended, No space to be remembered complete. From a table of earth grown wood, We will watch fully our mistakes. With cause on obvious intent, Our mind placed with free roaming shadow. Of time we will bare only an utterance, Of truth we can only seek fair redemption.