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Incessant Time
You will sit and think or run and chase
A path you believe will quicken the pace
Of fulfillment grand, or to at least withstand
Times ebbing flow and recurring woe.
And rise and fall, contentment's sprawl;
The specks we pan the ground for.
And rise and fall, discomfort's drawl;
The eras we spend in wanting.
Some questions reign:
"What constants remain?"
And with the answer lies eternity.
It is the love of a strain that grounds the sane;
An enduring devotion, a lingering notion,
Detached from what others deem necessary.
