Seize the moment - hold it fast,
suspend it, like a drop of rain
that shimmers in the lupin’s leaf,
before it trickles down the drain.
Capture it in celluloid,
freeze it on a coloured page;
an image from infinity
belonging to another age.
The paradox of time may seem
to slow at distance far;
a second is forever caught
by each imploding star.
The sun will rise upon her path,
as daily sets the silvered moon;
no metered beat or baton
can improve on nature's tune.
Time is but a ticking clock,
a shadow on a sundial,
marking minutes, hours and days
as they march in single file.
It is our master, we the slaves,
mere puppets of our Time,
which moves with great precision
accompanied by bell and chime.
Old men with withered faces,
once babes in Mothers’ arms,
recount the tales of war and horror
and of beguiling women's charms.
It is our lifetime we remember,
etched in lines for all to see;
we are pieces in the puzzle
that is the world’s eternity.
(comment on this poem)