By Philo Loyd
August 23rd, 2009
Where does it come from, where does it go?
It is conclusive, that it is elusive,
Because we don’t know.
We don’t have enough of it, it seems to me.
But how can that be?
It doesn’t seem real,
So I filed an appeal.
But time is being constantly created,
Even when I am busy being bull-baited.
The trouble with time is its simplicity
It refuses to stretch it’s elasticity.
The appeal board I appealed to gave me the dope,
Which certainly expanded my scope.
They told me the past has been spent,
It’s like you’ve only been paying rent.
Yes, it can be stringy like a cheese fondue,
But it ain’t ever coming back to you.
And consider the future that we chase so fast,
But it isn’t here yet, so how can it last.
So all we have is present time,
And sometimes it doesn’t feel
like it’s worth a dime.
There is no solution on earth,
So I am booking a berth,
On a spaceship to a nearby galaxy.
Where I expect a different reality.
I am not worried about my arrival.
Just looking forward to my survival.
The doctor that examines me looks quite young,
He could pass for my great-grandson.
Suddenly I realize with a start,
To the young people here,
I am merely an old fart.
Eighteen is the age of everyone here,
Nobody bothers to grow a beard.
Genetics are uniformly set,
Older, you definitely cannot get.
How could they accomplish this miracle?
They simply decided time is spherical.
And realizing the elastic nature of it,
Cut into a little bit of it.
Suddenly releasing the tension so tight,
All future time rolled out of sight.
It had stretched and expanded to such a degree,
That you had all the present time you wanted,
And it was all free.
No clocks on the walls, there is nothing to measure.
This place to me, is a real treasure.
I cannot leave here, I have no desire.
My life on earth is about to expire.
Here when a person becomes sufficiently aware,
They pay a visit to the city’s town square.
There in repose lie the record of those,
Who are now eighteen, and that means a lot.
Because they now receive their certificate of POT.
No, it’s not what you think, so I’ll just make a rhyme,
Simply stated, it means you have PLENTY OF TIME.
And all the future is now. Wow, Wow, and Wow.Your all time humble poet Philo .