I had a sudden realization that we tend to equate time with the numbers by which we measure it. The two are very different. When I procrastinate, I am not merely wasting the numbers we call time, but something far more substantial. Hopefully you already have this understanding of time, and if not, I hope this poem will give it to you.
Time 4/6/2010
The final minute ticks on by
And still the seconds seem to fly
From one to sixty-one.
Eleven turns to twelve; another day is done.
Forever we are counting, counting,
Weighty numbers mounting, mounting.
And still Tomorrow greets Today
Just like its father, Yesterday.
These numbers are not time, by which we span the years.
They cannot tell the distance 'twixt the start and stop of tears.
For how much faster can we count one minute to another,
Than we can count from just a friend to closer than a brother.
Or how much faster can we time a second to an hour,
Than we can time the Christmas snows to blooming April flowers.
No, numbers cannot span the time of sledding down a hill,
Or reading books, or making quilts, or burgers on a grill.
These things take time which numbers miss, and cannot fully weigh,
So use the moment that you have, before it slips away.
This poem is now my new favorite. The part about the time to measure tears rings so true when I think of my mother's sorrow still about the loss of two husbands. How can tears be measured? Certainly not by numbers on a clock or calendar....
ReplyDeleteI find it interesting how you compared increments of measured time to aspects of life. It's thought provoking. By the way, way to not use a classic hourglass 'sand sifting between your fingers' metaphor.
ReplyDeleteThanks everyone! Anna, I'm glad that metaphor didn't come to mind, or I may have used it. :)
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