MY NAME IS TIME, THE RIVER

I met this man in Babylon

While staring at the sand

I sat upon a grassy bank

Looked out across the land

His eyes were like the sunset

And his hair a wispy cloud

He spoke with subtle cadence

Not too softly, yet not loud

"My name is Time, the river,

 From the rain-drop to the sea

 From misery to the sorrow,

 To the joy, and back to me."

I sat on grass, like history,

And watched the river flow

And swirling in the foam, the kings

And armies, watched them go

I gazed upon the sunset

Far beyond the western waste

In silent contemplation

Of the vanity of haste

I saw it all dissolving in

The shadow of the night

And then beheld the crystal of

The golden morning's light

The lamp, the moth, the watcher

All understand the game

That every tempest motion takes

You closer to the flame

And when the flower withers

From the stalk, and turns to dust

And the mask of love is lifted

From the face of lust

And when the moth is dying

And the lamp is burning out

The golden light of truth dispels

The shadowed night of doubt

The watcher, silent, contemplates

The transience of it all

The legends, then the books and pictures

And the final fall

And the rising of the hopes

From passion born anew

And then the glistening tear-drops on

The face of life, like dew

The legend of the phoenix

Is the final truth, he notes

One wisp of hay, eternal, on

Illusion's surface floats