Time is many things.
It is both my friend
and my enemy.
it is mysterious
and intelligible.
It is a healer
and a destroyer.
Recognized by all,
it is a common
tongue.
It is the language of
doctors
racing against illness,
of firefighters
fighting the inferno.

Time
is a powerful stream.
I cannot
swim against the current,
I must
travel with it,
for life
is an endless battle against
time.
Mankind is forever searching for an advantage to the fight:
computers,
cars and jetplanes,
cell phones
dishwashers
microwaves.
Yet, the battle is one not worth fighting.


Time is the
silent anthropologist.
It is the ever-slow
slowness
of molasses,
the swift gallop of a racehorse,
but rarely the steady beat
of the heart.
Time has no memory;
no hopes of finding
yesterday.
It is tireless,
everlasting,
indifferent.

Nevertheless,

when the sand washes out from under my feet,
and the tide creeps toward me,
I know there is one thing
I can have
faith
in.
One thing that remains,
unchanged, unafraid:

time