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.