A Poem about Old Man Time

Time

by Callula Xu

Years slip past like minutes,
Now even millennia are seconds,
Mere seconds!
I am old by your standards,
But I am quite young in the universe.
You would know me by a false name,
Old Man Time.

I am here, but not there.
I am there, but not here.
I am many places,
I am also nothing.
I heal your hearts of grief and sorrow,
I also steal away your years,
I am a concept to you,
Yet I am not merely a concept to others.

You make laws to bind me to your primitive minds.
You hasten to restrain me,
To try to tame me.
It is foolish and useless.
For you to bind me,
You would have to understand
That I am not a concept,
But your fear of the unknown restrains you.
I have never seen a sillier,
More foolish species than you, in all my years.
Living in fear created by yourselves,
Always restrained.

I am Old Man Time to you,
But you cannot grasp the immensity of the universe,
For you define everything with false names.
You struggle to create chaos in the world,
But you bring in peace much more slowly than chaos.
This is the imbalance,
I predict,
Which will destroy your species.
Finally, a day to look forward to.

Callula Xu is a nine-year-old prodigy who speaks Mandarin at home and English in her Bay Area (CA) middle school. With her vivid imagination, she has already had two children's books published. God and Nature columnist Walt Hearn was so struck by her astoundingly adult vocabulary and use of words that he has contributed a Foreword for a forthcoming collection of her poems. 

Three Wise Men

THE WISE MEN

Step softly, under snow or rain,
To find the place where men can pray;
The way is all so very plain
That we may lose the way.

Oh, we have learnt to peer and pore
On tortured puzzles from our youth,
We know all labyrinthine lore,
We are the three wise mert of yore,
And we know all things but the truth.

We have gone round and round the hill,
And lost the wood among the trees,
And learnt long names for every ill,
And served the mad gods, naming still
The Furies the Eumenides.

The gods of violence took the veil
Of vision and philosophy,
The Serpent that brought all men bale,
He bites his own accursed tail,
And calls himself Eternity.

Go humbly ... it has hailed and snowed ...
With voices low and lanterns lit;
So very simple is the road,
That we may stray from it.

The world grows terrible and white,
And blinding white the breaking day;
We walk bewildered in the light,
For something is too large for sight,
And something much too plain to say.

The Child that was ere worlds begun
(... We need but walk a little way,
We need but see a latch undone,...)
The Child that played with moon and sun
Is playing with a little hay.

The house from which the heavens are fed,
The old strange house that is our own,
Where tricks of words are never said.
And Mercy is as plain as bread,
And Honour is as hard as stone.

Go humbly; humble are the skies,
And low and large and fierce the Star;
So very near the Manger lies
That we may travel far.

Hark! Laughter like a lion wakes
To roar to the resounding plain,
And the whole heaven shouts and shakes,
For God Himself is born again,
And we are little children walking
Through the snow and rain.

--G.K. Chesterton

Related reading:  Who Were the Wise Men?

A Poem by Rayanne Sinclair

Rayanne Sinclair is a novelist who includes poetry in her works. This poem is published with the author's permission.

Espíritu

By Rayanne Sinclair

Beneath the grassy berm, alas her spirit rises.

It’s love she seeks tonight, enclothed in her disguises.

Finding a lonely drunkard, streetlit face turned frown.

She appears a friendly visage, determined and unbound.

Take me home the whisper, I’ll be good company.

Arm in arm they stumble, off to his destiny.

Before the glint of dawn, she has devoured him whole.

Back underground is she, beneath the grassy knoll.

Follow Rayanne Sinclair:

http://rayannesinclair.com/

https://www.facebook.com/RayanneSinclair

https://twitter.com/RayanneSinclair

Related reading: Steal Away: A Great Christmas Gift!; Interview with Rayanne Sinclair