father time

father time, i say
is a cruel, ancient beast

he was with me today as i
woke up, early, began the rat race
he watched me when i
stumbled into the car, half aware and more than half asleep
and he did not lend a hand
he played with his overgrown, matted beard as i
turned the do’s into did’s and the will be’s into was’s
he tapped his finger on a table, ushering his seconds along as i
watched another day draw another conclusion and i
wondered not of the did’s or was’s but the
were’s and should have been’s and
dammit father time i said
where do you put this stuff?
every laugh we gave you seems to be
apathy in return from you and
each minute we live is a struggle to make
what will be as good as what was and
it never seems to be
do we grow wiser each moment or
do we get dumber every second or
are we just pitiful creatures who trudge on unsatisfied always
misremembering and miscomparing and
twisting a knife slowly into our hearts which i think is called
nostalgia
what cruel tricks do you play, time?
our futures are made of nothing but hopes and memories and
our pasts are made of nothing but memories and hopes
and we are stuck here in the middle between
aspirations and regrets and pipedreams
perhaps it is you we are stuck with
your heart pumps regrets through pipedream veins
with aspiration to make our lives as grim as yours
perhaps time is not made of hours and seconds but
revenge and contempt
how much envy can fill a calendar?
how much anger can fill a lifetime?
what is behind that beard
what is under that robe?
perhaps you are a bitter old man
and time is a last attempt at misanthropy
perhaps you are nothing but a child
and time is just a game
perhaps you are a demon
and time is a curse
perhaps you are a gardener
and time is your weedkiller
and we are your weeds

you will not have your garden without a fight
father time