But A Thing Called Time – A Poem

But A Thing Called Time – A Poem

If there were but a thing called time,
I’d stretch it out like a long rope;
I’d thread it through all my past lives,
watch all my human drama on display,
me, me, in many different forms.

If there were but a thing called time,
I’d snatch my childhood, flip it around,
place it somewhere else on the map,
call it love, grace, peace, green,
me, then, in many different ways.

If there were but a thing called time,
I’d hold my love for all of eternity,
reach for him, my cool fingers
warming like wax under his heat,
me, him, in many different beds.

If there were but a thing called time,
I’d grab my daughter, her dimpled
legs and one cheek, squeeze until
nothing but love oozed, squeeze,
me, her, in many different smiles.

If there were but a thing called time,
I’d grab my sisters, my mother,
my best friend, freeze framing us
in a filter of laughter, warmth, and delight,
me, us, in many different lens.

If there were but a thing called time,
I’d resurrect my grandparents from the dead,
for one final cuddle, cookie, squish of
soft skin; then I’d bury them again,
me, them, in many different embraces.

If there were but a thing called time,
I’d stretch it out like a long rope;
I’d thread it through all of my life experiences,
watch all my human drama on display,
me, me, making many different choices.

I’d follow those threads, see where they lead,
time not slinking away under locked doors;
time standing still at my mercy, at my periphery;
me, me, in many different forms;
me, me, in all my multiplicity.

Belinda

June 11, 2019

 

About This Poem

I find it hard to live in linear time; it’s not the mystical life. Yet, like everyone else, I’m bound by it. Every day I lose something I want to hold on to. Every day I gain something I want to hold on to. But the spiritual journey is one of acceptance and surrender. It’s about giving up the need for linear time and falling into the arms of cosmic time.

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Belinda Davidson, Modern Mystic

If there were but a thing called time, I’d stretch it out like a long rope; I’d thread it through all my past lives, watch all my human drama on display, me, me, in many different forms.

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