Time is a passage, a tunnel,
That seeds our maturation,
Time is a direction, a funnel,
That leads our transformation.
Time is an altered state,
Through which dimensions drift,
Time is a storm that won’t abate,
It’s the pressure that gives us lift,
Time is the daily grind, the toil,
That callouses our skin,
Time is the fertile ground, the soil,
Where we plant what we begin.
. Time is speed over distance,
. Time is change over difference.
© Tim Grace, 14 December 2010
To the reader: The importance of time’s connection with age dawns upon us early in life; an evident grip that strengthens year upon year. My two line poem (age is a barrier, time is its carrier) captures the tension and is well understood by children careering into the teenage years. At once, time is a lost opportunity and a gained potential. The instance of now is too fleeting to offer certainty; and so we become accustomed to change and frustration.
To the poet: Upon reflection, the neatness to the start of each line is useful in anchoring this sonnet to its theme; referencing itself time after time. This is almost true; but not quite. Just a couple of lines break the rule and it was tempting to adjust them to fit. But, the ‘neatness rule’ (tidy as it is) can also strip a poem of natural character … so I left it as it was.