Time itself, is an enigma.
Sometimes, it is in the present
Sometimes, in the old past
Often, memories of distant times
Feel very vivid, while recollections
Of the recent, appear apt to fade
More rapidly into the recesses.
Though intangible it may seem
Yet, within that very aspect, most
Dreams must thereto hold fast and
Plans advanced to capitalize on the
Dividend of hope amid each moment.
Notions of the present
May simply amaze the past.
Even still, what the future holds
Certainly, may bewilder the present.
Yet, life surges forward in its form
Like the continuous motion with no end.
And, further through its elusive entity,
Its unknown essence, never failing to mystify,
Like the fading mirage, enhanced by distance
Whilst disappearing into the evening sun.
Nonetheless, its boundless beauty inspires
As it moves up the mountain tops,
And floats in gentle ripples across the seas.
Enticing, whence it springs forth in the meadows
Or from the blossoming delicate rose bud
Wherein life’s presence is apparent to see.
Even if the moment of the present
Is all that evident appears,
Life surely will stamp and distinguish
All of its times, be it the future or the past.
Thus, as it steadfastly moves along in plain sight
It may not be as mysterious as it seems.
YemilBenjoy. Copyright 1992 Updated 2012