What Time is It

Written by: Robert Ludden

The time is always now;
then come invent with me
a treasure we shall never lose,
for if there is no future time at all
then it may never force itself upon us.
Ah, but now you say,
How may it ever cease to be
if it may not become?
And if there is no ending
fear itself is hollow,  empty, 
airless in its hovering.
So let it waft away,
less than a dream, 
less than a now in memory's retreat.

We are amazing, are we not,
creating our eternity?
Here is your now, and here is mine,
and I shall have a God today
while you, preoccupied with yours
may not come out to play,
although you may within our fancied
planetary course yet share with me
a common-birthed bewilderment
at such a wondrous cutting edge
on which we ride.