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The Edge of Time
I’m sitting on the edge of time
For just a disembodied pause,
While pointed hands o’er rounded chime
Obey the pendulum’s swayed cause.
Where kinetics’ course is lastly laid,
Comes forth the pointing to a door
That opens wide. Be not afraid,
I think, to thereupon explore.
And there I search the sea, in stay,
For those few drops that speak of me.
Below a crystal clouded day,
I look for cause and clarity.
But deep inside, my inner clock
Is calling forth its metered rhyme.
Inclined I am to learn like Locke,
I’m also tuned by trembling tine.
The edge of time is thinner than
The fairest maiden’s finest hair,
Yet broader is the settled plan
That puts us just exactly there.
Copyright ©
Robert Waltrip
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