On Time

Time makes itself felt

Through hours, minutes, 

Seconds,

Days, months and years 

But even ages and eons

Are only minimal manifestations 

Of time

Time remains incomprehensible 

We know that it is there

But we never see its face

Time is the great conjure which produces the pleasures of the world 

They are but reflections on the 

Glass of time only to drive us astray 

We break our heads against shadows

However much we dissect time

We do not reach its heart.

It remains indivisible 

It is never dissolved.