Passing Time

Time is a peculiar thing, at times fluttering about like a happy bird then suddenly surging like a ferocious avalanche. It creeps upon us when we are looking the other way. Its shadowy face lurks about in the darkest corners of our beings, rearing its head when we must answer its calling. Our years are marked by historical moments, societal icons and personal milestones. Identifying ourselves by the happenings in our lives, it becomes difficult to feel less whole when these things that have been a part of us begin to disappear.

Loved ones, leaders, the famous and infamous alike all pass away one by one, leaving us to a world without them--a world that seems less familiar and lacking. We are left wondering what to do and where to go after familiarity has vanished, aimlessly looking to someone, somewhere for some semblance of support and direction. Fear is an exaggeration of what we feel; it is more of a nothingness, an emptiness that plagues our hearts indescribably. Not all fall prey to the reality of new surroundings, however, as many stiffen their upper lip in upward mobility ever enduring for God, country and family. To each his own.

Perhaps purging one's memory of the past is a more effective way to cope with the future. Then again, the realness of the present can be so overwhelming that it produces compelling thought, a resolve that quells even the cruelest of storms. Poets, then, are left with the task of fending off the demons of passing time, ever present amidst the gaze of a ticking clock. The world changes, and those within it are susceptible to the icy chill of death. Still, life endures and man presses onward to the unknown, ever pursuing and indefinable goal. It is in this end, ironically, where eternal peace dwells.