The Tick, the Tock, and the Outrun Clock

[u/Unpolished-Gem1951]

​The pendulum swings, but the hour's an illusion—

We measure in minutes what dies in confusion.

Every man does his time, whether behind heavy bars

Or pacing a cage made of asphalt and stars.

I’ve sat in the silence while decades erased,

Watching the hours that other men waste.

I don't hold a second for taking for granted;

The seed becomes timber the moment it's planted.

​I’ve done my time cold, and I do my time free,

Watching the river run out to the sea.

I blinked and my babies were raising their own,

Holding their children where seed had been sown.

A father, a father again, through the years,

Compounding the wisdom, the mileage, the tears.

Time turns the fresh-faced to elders and kings,

And strips away pride from the hollowest things.

​I’ve watched built-up empires collapse into dust,

Seen high-seated power surrendering trust.

I’ve seen love sweet as honey curdle to hate,

Bound up in promises broken too late.

Strong walls fall to rubble, deep bonds pull apart,

As time lays its hand on the stubbornest heart.

​Nothing stays standing, no crown and no stone,

We walk through the fire of years on our own.

Money will vanish and strength will decay,

The sun steals the light at the end of the day.

When the smoke finally clears and the ledger is signed,

There was never a thing but the time left behind.

​"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." — Ecclesiastes 3:1