Before the dawn, was there a when, a time?
A thing cannot, may not, self-start.
For cause must come before effect, a rhyme
finite being declares Descartes.
Thus time is yet but must be God
and yet only by the flow of order
move near in definition to a fraud,
chance rigs the game within a border.
Most reputed is that ancient adage,
what’s known reveals but the lack of knowledge.
Years pass within momentary eons,
but a second it could pawn
the whole of love of man.
The forgiveness, without all strings, but can
exalt the dust of mankind.
Te amo as; que escrib; por una poema,
люблю тебя, мама.
Benjamin Idelevich.
An ode to time
© Copyright: Анна Иделевич, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125110705083
Свидетельство о публикации №125110705083
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