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The greatest healer amongst us,
buries pains deep underground ‘til they rot to dust.
One cannot possibly comprehend
her power – only glance at it
out of the corner of one’s eye
as it briefly aids them.

The almighty, all-seeing, omniscient
ally to Death; only masquerading
as a clock, not a dark
hooded figure with a large scythe
(She has fewer crops to reap).

She stands still. As the
saying goes,
rather, she’s anticipating –
wrapped up in – the impending
scenario so she forgets to turn the page –
so no one knows what to do.

She turns the Sun’s rays grey,
until night replaces day;
She holds back the clock at work,
and chases it forward at play;
She airbrushes the mind’s memories,
and restricts what the future might say.

She always has been, and always
will be,
so the human race, is stranded
out at sea.

© Sam Cunningham, July 2008