Time's Agony

For the span of worldly things

In amongst the continuum,

And the sandwich of iniquity,

Corrosive filaments of true mishap

Become a differing history.

And for all of the schemes,

Scribed, penned, planned and dreamed,

Men work the future also

With remarkable unpredictability.

Yet when Time is enslaved

To but a mediocre rendition

Of yet then a further

Ceaseless cyclic repetition,

It wearies of itself,

In agonies paced

Around this one-planed shelf.

But Man has revived

The heart of Time

With new life, and no pain,
In the uncontrived.