As I was dropping off to sleep last night, this poem--which I wrote on September 22, 2004--kept running through my head. I've revamped it a little to ameliorate a few painfully obvious rhymes. Thought I'd share it with you.
A moment lost, a moment gained.
A pure one, or a moment stained.
O what is time? The world forgot
It is a power dearly bought.
Its nonexistent crown is laid
Upon a goal so swiftly made,
Alas!, yet never finished, for
Time ate away its solid core.
It dominates the lips of men
That stifle loving words, and then
Time moves his finger and lays waste
To that which was not moved in haste.
A moment saved, a moment spoiled
A moment laughs at how we toiled.
Time can be a healing drink
Or cause unstable rafts to sink.
O what is time? The world knows not,
Nor sees our lives by Time are bought!