On Time

Jan 31 12:07 UTC 2006

Where has the time gone?
It seems only yesterday
I saw the most beautiful girl --
Now woman -- in the world.
I did not recognize it --
Or her -- at the time, of course,
But that is my one distinct memory
With a date attached, accurate to
Within a month, and a
Simple enough explanation of
How it came to be.

The other thought that
Springs to mind when
I think of lost time
Is something certainly
Never occuring *here*;
Mayhap in heaven, but so far
Only in my dreams -- I have
Dreamed it many times, and
Recalled it;
Unique among my dreams, it is.
I walk into a room with a table.
Music plays; perhaps
"See Amid the Winter's Snow" to begin,
Sung by that beautiful girl
With her yet-imperfect thirteen-
Year-old voice,
But it varies.

Always constant are the friends --
Some only friends in wish and fantasy,
Indifferent in history --
Some seated, some standing
At the table. A few stand out,
Some varying each time, but
They are too many in total to
Know, in the dream, them all.
Also constant is the song
Sung at the table, with the
Voice in the dream of the choir
At that same concert --
Perhaps why one face in particular
Always sticks out in every recurrence
Of the dream -- but in picture
Sung by all of us together:
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."
Most of those I see at table
I have not seen in years, and
Will likely never see together again
Until the last day, if ever.

Where has the time gone? It
Vanished like snow on the pavement,
Fleeting as fog grasped in the fist.
Heaven's primary virtue is its
*Lack of end*. Some have said that
Heaven is where all things that are
Fondly remembered are
Stored as they are remembered.
To my mind this description
Holds some truth, but
Lacks veracity in entirety;
God does not force those
Who reject his salvation.

Where has the time gone?
Vanished forever are the
Mostly-forgotten years; it
Seems that all that
Memory holds is
The record of the 
Errors I have made.
Words inaptly spoken,
Words never spoken at all,
Actions taken wrongly,
Flubbed entrances and exits.
It is said that in the end
All this shall be redeemed.
May it be so.

Where has the time gone?
Each year passes more
Fleetingly than the last;
Perhaps at death the pace
Will become such that death
Is welcome. The endlessness,
Without the haste of limits,
Of the heaven to come,
Is a great comfort -- but
Where has the time gone?

response 2 of 2:

Feb 16 02:18 UTC 2006

The "author's comments," if printed verbatim, will read: 

"I couldn't sleep for a long time one night a few weeks ago. Part of 
what was holding me awake was a deep nostalgia, a longing for former 
days. This poem nearly wrote itself.
"I have been writing fiction since second grade and poetry since ninth 
grade; the early output in both was atrocious, but I can't imagine doing
 anything else. The events that are portrayed early in the poem, and
that  the dream later on is based on, took place before my first
outburst of  poetry." I dedicate this poem first to the glory of God and
second to the young  lady who figures prominently in the first and
second stanzas."