Sit and watch a kettle boil
time goes slowly by
Divert attention for a second
and the kettle has run dry
When young and there's expectation waiting for a birthday celebration
time passes slowly, days are long and very drawn
But when decades of maturity fills the urn, there's lesser time between those celebratory days
it doesn't seem so long since the days that one was born
When one is very young around the age of six or ten
all the eighteen year old youth, appear as very mature adult men
And now the coin has flipped, with eighty not too far away, girls of age, seen as early to mid twenties
they are often, somewhere around early forties, mature aged women
And now a self posed question? Would we have the same time perception
with all this artificial human time, milliseconds, seconds, minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millenniums
Does all this time segmentation somehow promote deception ??
This is no time to die
Surely the time has come
Surely the time is near
When God and his angels
Will come out from the things
Of this world we worship asleep
In golden glossy mummy cases
And sweep away the dust of millenniums
Gathered in an old world of sarcophagi
Overturning the worn-out pages of
Death scripts and gross materialism
This is no time to die
Which brings in a new reality
With the force of the archaeologist
Shovelling dirt from the tombs
And launching it out into the wind
Over the Valley of the Kings
Into the wind of a discovered reality
Of joy and blessedness and life
Beyond the relics stance tainted feigned glory,
the achievers had gifted us their puzzles,
speckled based best in their field of theory,
like Baia hot baths, can't stomach its guzzles,
aloft or cavernous, or in a quarry,
like those Pyramid guys fuss up their fuzzles,
as rock piles escape while history depicts,
the bookshelves leave those green stains with those quick picks.
Millenniums, centuries, decades, plus years,
anthropologists helped by benefactors,
busy in their research before disasters,
like Baia downed in Naples Bay, off its shores,
letters for funding by their alma maters,
reach prosperous grads where old money outpours,
and achievers will have their dribblings published,
skilled wins the Nobel Prize as greatly cherished.
We have this time around.
Thus all will fade.
Millenniums underground.
As bones turn to clay.
It is deeply profound.
To kneel down and pray.
For we know not that hour.
Nor the last day.
Matthew 24:36.
TIME
Precise and constant it marches on.
It waits for no one, yet will stop to heal a broken heart.
Measured in thousandths of a second by swimmers
And in millenniums by the Creator of All Time.
They say it’s money—but it doesn’t make sense
That last weekend can seem so long ago
Yet each day went by so quickly.
It’s fast as lightening and slow as molasses.
Two can stand side by side and it flies for one and crawls for the other.
A friend to the child who anxiously awaits the school bell at the end of day.
An enemy to the lover who waits for the 10:35 to take her soldier to a far away land.
It means everything to the watchmaker
And nothing to the boy fishing on the riverbank.
It’s “Time On My Hands” and “Time In A Bottle”
And if you drop the e and add an i-n-g, it’s Rotten - and it’s Perfect.
And twice a year it laughs at those of us who
Spring forward -- and then Fall back
Thinking that we can change it.
Mariruth Pyatt
In the midst of timeless time, I stand;
But still, she does not stand,
Elegantly moving, tick tock, tick tock, all day,
The price of delay, too heavy to pay.
Millenniums tick by like ponderous dinosaurs,
Time never blinks, always ticking and tocking,
Centuries come, centuries go; no scaurs,
To tell the tale of an ancient king.
Decades tumble upon others,
Years like yesterday roll by,
Months and days tuck arms together like brothers,
Time in a rush, no time to say goodbye.
By the hours, time revs up speed,
Minutes not enough to run,
With frantic fingers, seconds arms feed,
The last of time allocated and moves on.
How many times do we humans reflect
On one of the most famous moments in history?
And this is the key to unlocking
The answers to what once was a mystery!
"One man sinned so death spread to all"
How often angered this makes people feel.
To balance, "One died so all could live"
And every wound this one would heal.
On Nisan 14, two millenniums back
After the sun had set,
A remembrance service was established.
Kept simple so none would forget
The value of this person's life,
The purpose of this special occasion,
Why this event strengthens the hope
Of hearts filled with deep appreciation.
On March 24th after sundown this year
You are warmly welcome, one-and-all
To join us in remembering Jesus' love
At your nearest Kingdom Hall.
To learn all about what Jesus did,
What he will do in the future, and more...
Visit www.jw.org
Or speak to a JW when they knock on your door.
The self-harm
Sometimes, I think I live inside the head of an ogre
whatever happens, none of us are in control, but
of a malign monster with brain cancer
Millenniums ago, when the brain was vigorous
it caught a microorganism of the type that can hide
a long time before branching out powerfully trying
to take over by altering the brain's chemistry.
Over time, the foreign body has tried to destroy it.
The cohesion that makes a brain function almost
to perfection; alas, as is with Beau's ideal, one time or another fails but can be repaired, and peace ensues.
There was a time when the monster cell was nearly
defeated but was saved by lesser pests
thinking its
cunning could be useful so it could grow alongside
The bacterium grew immensely strong and has begun threatening and altering the normal function
of the mental capacity of an encephalitic existence
the world might collapse, and a dead planet will circle the galaxy because we now know
the monster cell's purpose was to destroy god's
failures.
To commit known murder in God's name
Is vanity of the most insane.
Why must they hide their faces
If they are not men ashamed?
Why do they lie in wait
To ply a terrorist trade.
Little school-age children
Are trained to war and hate.
Any others unlike them
Who won't assimilate?
There will always be another
Filling billions more graves.
Pit brother against brother
Throughout millenniums age.
While those Innocent suffer
Yet the guilty take no blame.
Why must they hide their faces
If they are are not men ashamed?
With each morning, we awaken.
Horrors of our yesterdays ought to be forsaken.
We must move on and remain unshaken.
Dreams for a new future let’s start making.
I think of the flood that came in Noah’s time.
Centuries ago, God cleansed the world of sin’s grime.
The Ark landed in a new place and likely a new clime.
A rainbow appeared for a new day breaking.
Imagine how they felt when that rainbow they did see.
As it shone with beauty, hopelessness was meant to flee.
God made this happen back then, so I can foresee
a day of joy when God’s people no longer are aching.
*"Reflections of pink, and gold on heaven’s floor,
a hint of memories that came millenniums before,
and the radiance of God’s glory, eyeing from behind the shore,
is a new dawn, for our taking."
*(last verse by Martin Braun)
What will we do now that we’ve reached Gen Z
Will we have to do like hurricanes do
Give them names like Alpha, Beta, and Gamma
or perhaps just Roman Numeral I and II
Shall we call the new babies Gen Trump
Or perhaps Gen Pandemic or Gen Covid
Or do we just let them live out their lives
Like long ago generations did
You see, I don’t recall Gen Caveman
Or Gen Industrial Age
And they seemed to have made it just fine
Without the help of some superfluous adage
I wonder why we started naming ourselves
Are the children so ashamed of their parents
Perhaps afraid they won’t be able to overcome
the terms of their inheritance
Reflections of pink, and gold on heaven’s floor,
A hint of memories that came millenniums before,
And the radiance of God’s glory, from the heart's core,
Is a new dawn, for our taking.
In these shades of light, a narrative is spun,
Of women's strength and battles won,
For rights to choose, for equality won't be shun,
With each morning, a world's foundation shaking.
They rise for autonomy, their voices clear,
For choices over bodies, a future sincere,
Where decisions are theirs, with no shadow of fear,
With each morning, a new dawn's awakening.
Equal pay, a demand that echoes wide,
Breaking the chains of wage gaps, side by side,
A future where worth isn't unfairly denied,
With each morning, a brighter horizon breaking.
Promotions earned through merit and skill,
Not hindered by gender, a world to fulfill,
A future where glass ceilings shatter at will,
With each morning, progress relentless and unshaking.
Hope whispers of change, with each sunrise,
A world where justice and fairness arise,
Where women's rights, like the sun, shall rise,
With each morning, a future resolute for the taking.
Each morning dawn brushes paint across the sky,
pastel colors to herald the rise of sun's golden eye.
He warms the earth. Dew's moisture he'll dry
before the world is waking.
Reflections of pink, and gold on heaven’s floor,
a hint of memories that came millenniums before,
and the radiance of God’s glory, eying from behind the shore,
is a new dawn, for our taking.
Sunrise lights the world as if it were enchanted.
Beauty surrounds us but nature is taken for granted,
marred by opinions, biased and slanted.
Hostility is of mankind's making.
Memories of soldiers as they marched off to war,
Some never returned, and others living with the encore
of battles fought and lost, wondering what it was for.
Nightmares that wake them, shaking.
But with each morning arrives glowing rays of hope.
Glimmers a new day brings and with it a way to cope
with life's hardships that make us walk a tightrope.
It's a painstaking chore: peacemaking.
The day will come when there will be an end of strife
in a world where corruption and fear are rife.
There will be no more war. Men will sheath the knife
Life will be idyllic, for which hearts have been aching.
Rolling in the tides of time,
the larger rock a pebble now,
Rattle crackles with the others
in the squirming gravel’s maw.
Up back down - up back down,
persistent, insistent waves of the tide of time:
Boisterous thundering; rolling, boiling cannon roar,
returning calmed in rushing brine.
Pebbles flash dance in sandy froth,
razzle-dazzle in cross tide ripples,
Mingle there with beaches flotsam
bright shiny in the sparkling stipple.
Relentless seesaw ebb-tides, sliding grinding
the pebble to sand in timeless wave labor;
Ground so fine its powder dissolving:
pebble flesh now sea foam vapor.
Eternal flow of lava birth,
pebble life resumes on earth.
The Instrumentalists
Percussion: Tectonic plate movement, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions
Strings: Solar wind and flares, meteor hits, and galaxy intrusion
Reeds: Polarity arrangement, methane control under the oceans
Brass: Layered by temperature: air’n water in motion
The Ensemble
Instruments tuned for planet change
Compose symphonies in ethereal range:
Mystic music for geologic meaning -
Melody for cosmic listening.
Ages ordered in time pleasing Trinity -
On earth in the universe out to eternity.
Ice ages in millenniums, cycled through millions:
Our years but moments: compare the planet in billions.
Human lifespan is varied, in century duration,
So we might know our limitations.
Natural science is not political science:
Human hope is in God reliance.
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