Marchpast of time

The past,
does not last.
If it ever did,
then we would be rid,
of the present,
with no time to repent.

Why our own future,
would be a strange creature.
We would not recognize,
nor be worldly wise,
perhaps not even know,
the seeds to sow,
to seek the tempest,
or to allay our unrest.

Yesterday's faded
today looks jaded,
tomorrow's quiver,
tips the unborn reciever.
But what if we're counting,
backwards amidst the gloaming?
stories would ravel,
lives would swivel,
we would be ripped asunder,
before we came together.

Thus spoke the continuum,
from its starry podium,
"Occurrence is finite,
end looms in twilight,
yonder is the happenstance
of every circumstance.
So face the tempest,
with due respect.
Blessed is the one
who hugs the sun,
knowing fully well,
that he will burn in hell.
Beware of the traveller,
and not the glee reveller,
for inside every phase,
time ceases to race,
and things that you fear,
will come perilously near."