Turn Turn Turn Turn
Spinning-always-slowly-moving
these days are like tomahawks
shifted into splitting logs
they divide as they create.

Must resist the urge to
listen and then leave
they put hurt into the center
and leave the rest to be surrendered.

Like pillars of salt they're
wounds to be reopened
Closed, supposed to be closed,
The past should be the passed.

Swimming in the present is colder than remembered
and swimming in the future is hotter than the bones
of Helios and horses pulling days into the foam.
For time is drowning forward at the waiting speed of children
whose only hopes and only fears are of father coming home
whose only hopes and only fears are in facing the unknown.

Turn Turn Turn Turn
Dizzy-reeling-dancing-swiftly
these days are like chrysanthemums
wilting in store windows
they hate to be replaced-

The closing of the final book
The last of all the rage
*****'s solemn final look
The curtains falling on the stage

The starting of a brand new life
The beginning of the pain
Simple as it starts its strife
Flowers blossom in the rain-

Turning-always-swiftly-slowly
implacable in motion-

A crashing ocean creates the waves
who just like the turning of the days
break over and over until the tide recedes
and then repeats, a brutal atonement
which leaves Time and I to balance future, past
and living in the moment.