Measure of Change

Time isn’t a river
we navigate, headlong
into the great unknown.
It’s a clock whose hands tick away
on the wall of the present,
counting the beats we own.

A second isn’t a fragment
of some grand, elusive dimension —
it’s a vibration in the bones
of cesium stones,
a turning Earth adrift,
a tool we use to track the pulse
of everything that shifts.

Past and future, myths we weave,
stories rippling in the now.
The past is etched in memories,
but all that stays is this:
the present, unfolding
like a petal’s kiss
brushing against the sun.

The future, too, remains a dream,
a dance not yet begun.
It is potential, unseen,
untouched by ticking hands that run.

All that is resides
within this breath we take,
this pause between each cycle.
The present is the only stage
where change makes its mark —
a constant becoming,
a flicker in the dark
that vanishes before
we can embrace its spark.

So let the river rage and roar.
But know it’s not time that flows —
it’s Earth beneath our feet.
Time is just the name we give
to how things shift and sway,
how they rise and fall away,
appear then fade somehow,
in the endless, eternal Now.