Each moment ticks, falls
into the land of forgotten time.
There it lies, wishing for another
chance to become again.
This is the land of memories lost,
of past challenges, of the furtive
adventure, youth gone …
remembered in faint glimpses.
We are chained to the fleeting,
round, full, delicious moments
when youth had its way with the heart,
all healed by a kiss.
Time changes, moves on,
becomes more of an old friend
than a constant adversary, one who
cushions the blow of finality with
a compassion of its own.
Time is constant, unwavering,
resolute in its search for the next
memory, the ticking never ceases.
Glenn D. Clarke 11/09
