Time Poem by Bill Cantrell

Time holds all the cards
A grain of sand transforms into a mountain,
only to return to its former place
Time?
She laughs in out face,
gathering all of our yesterdays,
only to place them before us again
as a skip in a record,
with new promises, only to conceal delete any recollections
We repeat them again, again and again
And so the valley is deepened by the diamonds
sharp teeth, threatening all who choose,
to look back to make any connection whatsoever
To peer into life's future, with reforms based on mistakes
of the past,
equating to pleading the fifth!
Oh time!
Yes, it is I that calls you to the carpet!
I have seen your slight of hands
Yes, me, nothing more than a poet- want to be
Yet, just as a child with no learning can sense,
when it is unloved by it's mother,
I know you for what you truly are!
When you call out for change,
it is nothing more than moving furniture from here to there
I for a certainty know your bloodless heart,
so I shall reveal your face
In the mirror, you give false hope
While in our youth, we are never satisfied with what we see
Even though there may come a short time when we are content,
you are overnight pulling the sheet from a set table,
thus you expose to all onlookers the lines in our face
Yet, why is it that you bless the sequoias?
You grant the turtle and parrot a reward greater than us!
What impels you to craft such a riddle?
They along with you laugh at us,
why is it that we envy you when it is you,
who should envy us?
Yes, us who have been granted free choice?
Is it due to the fact that it was without your consent we caged the parrot?
Or is it that we have reduced the majestic redwoods to confinement?
The turtle dares not answer, seeing her young being plucked,
from the sand as they rush to the ocean,
thus being punished for revealing just a few increments of times motive
Time, yes you, sitting on your dictatorial throne,
choosing whom to grant longevity,
along with those herded to the exit sign!
Time,
I very well know your weakness,
thus you have no lasting power over me,
for you are not a thing, life is your true face,
and your tongue belongs to the maker of decisions
As earth, wind, fire and water,
hight, width depth and mass all hold hands,
They have nothing in common with you as we know it
So, what more is there to say?
I confess,
I hate you and love you at the same time,
no pun intended
So,
I thank you for granting one increment of your curiosity,
to pen this poem,
for you have no love but you, like many have,
an inquiring mind,
and this is your weakness,
I promise not to tell,
but you must open your gates,
and there I must dwell