After a push of a hand,
. . . that bore not of my making.
. . . kept ticking and ringing.
. . . thus measured seconds into ages which cannot stop.
It pushed me,
showed me,
gave me,
and authority.
Yes it is an unyielding intangible force which an ill forgotten god,
once a glutton and swallowed its futile future.
First Hand
At the court of his continuum where none and all exist in and outside,
only to justify what he can see, shape and partake of what he is given.
One hand to know when,
the other a measure of how.
I wanted to asked yet spat to me a force known as static at its peak,
a whip at the tail where a minute of my past can be made or undone.
"Time cannot,
Time will not,
Before I take all the time,
swallowing yours"
A flick of a second,
a whisper of the minute,
the crash all of the hours.
The ill forgotten god, Kronos
gave none but a smirk.
Its teeth none,
Its murmur shown,
Yet a look from can make a minute a month at a time.
"Puny Olympian, puny human. Go ahead and devour me of my throne,
I will make it known in my own, I will make you see that I alone will give
you none but patience is mine and mine alone."
A silent alarm from the depths of the sun shown,
A broken phone . . .
took its time,
telling me it is now known.
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