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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Time is not a river but a sea,
Holding all that was and is to be.
It is the mind that moves across the story,
Racing with the wind upon its glory,
Tracing through the will one's destiny.
Years shimmer in their drowned eternity.
The problem is, of course, identity,
Having the impression we are free.
Remember that the Earth does not seem round.
Each eve the sun sinks slowly towards the ground,
Even as we choose to take our tea. |
