Time cannot be bought nor sold
for it makes everything, that is anything, become old.
No matter where life or events stand
it's relative by the movement of its invisible hand.
Though it may be an invention of mankind
I cannot think, for one minute, where we would be without time.
Regardless whether an hour is slow or a minute too fast,
every second that passes, takes away things one would wish to last.
Not everything is governed by time and space
for there is a third element - one called 'fate'.
An inevitability that will lead to time's eventual demise
re-set the clock, start again, refreshed and sanitised.
So where are we in this cosmic creation of one
drifting on our biological vessel around a sun?
I do not know when time will cease to exist
but if I did, there's nothing I could do about it.
The past is our own, the future is not.
Shhhhhh - what's that strange noise? Is it the unwinding of the clock?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem